Summer's Hidden Melody
by winterhorses
Summary: One band. Two college graduates. Twenty-four concerts. Bella and Rosalie spend an unforgettable summer following their favorite band on tour. When Bella catches the eye of charismatic lead singer Anthony Cullen, she's in for an incredible ride. But the two don't always get along in harmony, and Bella wonders if her long-held ideal really is the perfect one for her.
1. Chapter 1

**The first part of this story was my donation piece for Fandom Gives Back for Christy. Gobs of love to my splendiferous beta, DayDreamDreamer, and my fic-awesome pre-readers, Oldenuf2knobeta and my sis Amy.**

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><p><strong>* DISCLAIMER: There is no abuse or excessive violence. Other than that, I make no promises! BUT, as always, I will give as many spoilers as you'd like via PM. *<strong>

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><p><strong>Part One is complete. I'll post every other day. Here we go!<strong>

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><p>—- SHM -—<p>

"Come _on_!" I urge, stuffing a Louis Vuitton bag in my already crammed trunk. "We need to hit the road."

Rosalie Hale breezes out of her apartment and hands me yet another monogrammed piece of luggage. "Okay, ready."

"Oh, hells to the no," I protest, pushing it back at her. "I've loaded up enough of your crap already. You find a place for it."

She wrinkles her nose and peeks inside my trusty Honda Accord. "I can't believe I'll be spending the next two months riding in this disaster."

"Yeah, well, next time Daddy Warbucks buys you a car for graduation, don't ask for a two-seater."

"Hmph," she grumbles and shoves the bag in the narrow space between the full backseat and the rear windshield. "You're driving first, right? I was up all night saying goodbye to Jared, and I'm exhausted."

"Fine." I agree without complaint. I've learned over our four years of rooming together in college that it's often easier to give in than to listen to her whine incessantly. "I thought you two broke up."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't say _goodbye_."

Rosalie and I share a giggle. I know exactly what occurred during that night-long parting.

It's a near miracle, but we manage to reach Route I-90 before 8 a.m. Rosalie pulls a sleep mask over her eyes, leans against a silk-covered pillow, and is dead to the world within twenty minutes.

Perfect.

Knowing she can sleep through nuclear Armageddon, I push in the tape cassette adapter hooked to my iPhone and hit "Play." Yes, my used 2005 car has a cassette player in it. Not all of us get brand new BMW convertibles as gifts. **  
><strong>

The throaty sex tones of E. Anthony Cullen take over my being, and immediately, I'm in my happy place. No singer on earth can simultaneously soothe, excite, and move me like he can. And it's so much more than the rich, deep voice that makes my stomach clench. The music and lyrics are what bring the true magic. The melodies are simple and classic—but underneath the straightforward lines are harmonies, counterpoint, and chord progressions so complex and layered that I often listen to the instrumental versions just to appreciate the composition.

And don't get me started on the lyrics. Seriously, don't. My senior thesis combining my double major of English and music (a moneymaking combo if ever there was one!) discussed the poetry in contemporary alternative rock and how the themes reflect the social values of its listeners. I used a number of lyrics from Hidden Summit's songs to support my conclusions, and I can speak at length about any of their numerous original works. E. Cullen is a fucking genius.

For some reason, he prefers to go by his middle name and always uses the initial for his first. I don't understand why. It's a bit of an older-style name, but it sounds strong and sexy to me—not that his physical appearance needs any help in those departments.

Anthony Cullen is the total package: looks, voice, body, talent, and soul. As the lead singer for Hidden Summit, he makes females all over the globe swoon at the mention of his name—me and Rosalie, included. We are diehard fans to the core, and as graduation presents for the two of us (well, it was one of her many), Rosalie's dad bought us tickets for seats somewhere in the first three rows, to every one of his concerts, for the next six weeks. That's right, all twenty-four of them.

It is an unusually light tour for the band, but Jasper Whitlock, the bass guitarist, has a newborn baby along for the trip, and he's determined to spend as much time playing dad as possible. I don't have any strong resentment against kids, in general, but I'm sorta pissed that this one, in particular, is messing with the schedule of my all-time favorite band. There are even rumors that Jasper is planning to quit the group for the domestic life after the summer session is over.

That's not the only piece of scary gossip. Word on the 'net is that the drummer, Jacob Black, has fallen nuts over nipples for some unknown bartender chick. While that gives hope to the rest of us nobodies that we might land a celebrity, there's talk that this girl isn't keen on band life and wants Jake out.

I can't imagine how crazy I'll be if Hidden Summit breaks up. There's a very real possibility I'll go into shock and suffer PTSD as a result. I swear I'm not a psycho, cardboard-cutout-sex-having stalker fanatic, but I might be closer to that line than I'm comfortable admitting.

Anthony and his bandmates keep me company for several hours as I coast down the Interstate. The traffic out of Boston hadn't been bad, but I'm not looking forward to New York City. I may take the Tappan Zee Bridge and bypass it—the road surface on I-95 through the city is absolute shit. **  
><strong>

A few hours before that's even an issue, I have to make a stop for the bathroom. Rosalie wakes up as the engine downshifts.

"Tell me we're there," she groans, not bothering to lift the mask over her eyes.

"Hardly," I snort. "Like I'd let you sleep the whole way. I'm going to run inside to pee. Want anything?"

"Is it too early for tequila?"

"Sorry, dear. You'll have to wait until later."

"Fine. Goodnight." She begins to breathe deeply and is probably asleep again by the time I get out of the car.

Ah, Rose. She's a complete bitch, but we've had some amazing times together.

Hyped up on a large iced coffee with a double shot of espresso, I'm good until all that liquid forces another potty break. This time I pull over in New Jersey—I did take Tappan Zee, by the way—and have the attendant fill me up on the state's cheaper gas.

"Hey, Princess. Wake up." I stand beside the open passenger door and poke Rosalie on the shoulder. "Your turn."

"Don't wanna," she mumbles, covering her face with the pillow.

"Okay, but this car isn't moving from here unless you're driving it." I cross my arms and lean against the door frame. I don't need to get comfortable because she knows I'm not joking. It took the entire first month of our freshman year for her to figure out just how far she could push me, but since learning the limits to my patience, she has rarely tested them.

I think I'm rather even-tempered, but I don't put up with stupid shit.

"Where the hell is Bristow, anyway? And what kind of dumbass name is 'Jiffy Lube Live Amphitheater'?" she complains while pulling out of the gas station.

"I hear ya. I mean, it was bad enough when every freaking venue in the U.S. started selling out their names, but 'Jiffy Lube'? That's just…the worst."

"Nah, it could have been the 'Trojan Bareskin' Theater or 'Bob's Dildos' Arena or something," she points out.

"Truth," I agree, nodding my head at her sagacity. **  
><strong>

She squints at my phone, which is navigating us via Google Maps. "Four and half hours, huh? I bet I can make it in four."

"Not a chance. We'll hit traffic in Baltimore and D.C. And give Angie a break. She's not as young as she used to be."

"I can't believe you gave your car a girl name. You should be riding a guy."

"You know I don't discriminate like that," I shrug. I'm all about cock, but I had experimented with girls before. It was pretty hot, actually. "Come on, Angie the Accord has a nice ring to it."

"You're so fucking weird, Bella."

"Yup, and you love me anyway."

"Maybe," she allows, "but don't start thinking I'll be going down on you any time soon. This mind-blowing tongue is for men only." She sticks out said part of her anatomy and wiggles it suggestively.

"My life will never be complete."

"You know it, whore." Rosalie pauses for a moment with her head cocked to the side and then squeals. "It's my song!" She cranks up the volume so that the haunting melody of "Poison Rose" fills our ears. As Anthony sings about forbidden desire and destructive love, our souls vibrate in synchrony with the passionate words. Every note he produces is like an emotion all in itself.

By the time the song is over, both Rose and I are breathing heavily—as if we just ran a marathon or finished a good cry or experienced an amazing orgasm. We share a look and sigh. In a handful of hours, we will be seeing the makers of this incredible music up close and in person.

—- SHM -—

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><p><strong>Well? I'd love to hear what you think so far about this Bella! All my Bellas have pretty much been "good girls" up to this point, and I wanted to branch out a bit this time. :)<strong>

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><p><strong>This chapter was a short one just get the ball rolling. The rest will be longer. See ya Friday! xoxo<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Eh...Friday, Thursday...whatever. I'm done proofing this chapter and suck at waiting. :)**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god," Rosalie screams as Anthony lets go of her hand and reaches out to another crazed fan in the row behind us. "I touched him! He touched me! We touched!"

"I know! I hate you!" I scream back, my eyes glued to Anthony's tall form and broad shoulders as he moves down the aisle, trying to make contact with as many of the audience as possible. We had both thrust out arms when he came down from the stage during an instrumental interlude in one of his songs, but Rosalie was the lucky one of us whose hand he grabbed.

The first half of the concert is everything we imagined. Anthony looks impossibly sexy in black skinny jeans, a blood red tee shirt with strategic rips to show off his rock-hard muscles and bold tats, and wild sex hair that flops over his forehead and drips sweat down the sides of his scruffy jaw. The set list is a perfect balance of rage, lust, anguish, and tenderness. The other members of the band are on fire, and I'm stunned by each one of their performances.

"I could die perfectly happy right now," she says, loudly enough for me to hear over everything else.

"But then I'd be going to the fifth show alone." I tap my chin as if in deep thought. "Although, that would mean meeting the band by myself, so I'd have less competition when trying to get into Anthony's pants."

"As if he'd pick you over me," she sniffs. Her full lips form a pout. "I'm so pissed that Dad couldn't get VIP passes until the fifth show. Think of all those other girls he's meeting before me!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure his jizz supply will replenish in time to give it to you…or me."

The song ends, and we scream and clap wildly. The band takes their intermission, and Rosalie lowers herself into her seat. She gives me a serious look.

"What if he really does want one of us—and not the other?" She raises her manicured fingertips to her mouth and gasps. "Or both?"

"Hey, I'm up…and down…for it, if you are." I raise my eyebrows suggestively and kiss the air in her direction.

"Seriously, Bella. This could really be an issue. I don't think it's just a rumor that he's into all kinds of casual sex."

"Well, I'd be happy if he picks you. I'm excited just to see him up close and get his autograph."

"Hmm" is her reply.

We gush about the band during the rest of intermission, and the second half is even more amazing than the first. My throat is completely raw by the end of the concert, and there's ringing in my ears, but nothing can drag down my soaring spirits. Rosalie and I join a large group of girls clustering around the backstage exit in hopes of seeing our idols one more time.

After waiting almost two hours without any indication of the band's emergence, we agree to call it quits.

"Come on, Bella, let's get back to the hotel," Rosalie yawns. "We have plenty more chances, and there's always the backstage passes at the fifth show."**  
><strong>

Our luck is even worse at the next concert—neither of us can reach Anthony's hand when he dashes by. At the third show, however, I strike gold.

We're fortunate enough to have scored front row seats to this one, and I swear Anthony looks right at us during the first half. When he makes his aisle run after intermission, he stops…and then dips me over his arm! My face is flaming red after he jogs away, shaking hands and winking at other fans. Rosalie is hyperventilating.

"You lucky bitch! Now I hate _you_!" she squeals, jumping up and down while holding my hands.

"Oh my god, I'm dreaming. Am I awake? Pinch me…no! Smell me. Do I smell like him?"

She brings her nose close to my arm and sniffs. "You've got man-smell on there, girl! He left his scent on you!"

I ride my contact high for the rest of the show. I'm dying to haunt the backstage exit, but Rose didn't much sleep the previous night and is grumpy. She whines and moans until I agree to head back to the hotel.

The next morning, we're on the road early to make the next concert, which is in Georgia. Rosalie's a little cool toward me, and I wonder if she's miffed that I got more contact with Anthony than she did. Whatever. If she wants to act like a spoiled princess, that's her problem.

Things are even more tense between us when Anthony again reaches out to me in my front row seat. He squeezes Rosalie's hand, too, as he passes by, but blows me a kiss over his shoulder before he heads back up on stage.

"Are you pissed me?" I ask on the way back to tonight's hotel.

"Of course not," she scoffs, rooting around in her bag for some gum.

"Then why are you acting like a frigid bitch?"

"God, Bella, excuse me for not being a ray of sunshine all the time. It's been a long week, and I'm fucking exhausted. I hope the weather's decent tomorrow. The beach is calling my name."

There is a three-day hiatus until the next concert in Florida, and we use the time to lie out on the sand and hit the night scene in Miami. Rosalie hooks up with a guy one night, and we both get plenty of offers, but I'm disenchanted with everyone I meet. I know it makes no sense to compare real people to a fantasy, yet every guy I talk to falls short of my romanticized ideal—E. Anthony Cullen. **  
><strong>

By the end of the Miami concert, Rosalie seems to have gotten over whatever ailed her. She grabs my hand tightly as we wait in the VIP lounge to have a meet and greet with the band.

"Do you think I should slip him my number?" Rosalie asks, her eyes glued to the backstage entrance door.

"Why not? There's nothing to lose." For some reason, I'm completely calm now. I mean, on the inside, my guts are playing Twister, but the fanatical excitement isn't spewing out of me like usual.

Rosalie's surprised, too. "What's wrong with you, Bella? This is it—our dream come true! You act like you're standing in line at the grocery store."

I shrug. "I know. It's so weird. I _am _thrilled to be here, it's just…I dunno. Maybe I'm worried that meeting him in person will be a disappointment."

She looks at me like I'm a complete stranger. "Okay, you're scaring me a bit. You have been waiting for this moment for, like, your entire _life_. You know every piece of information—true and false—ever published about the guy." She narrows her eyes at me and then inhales deeply. "Did you smoke up in the bathroom or something?"

I chuckle. "Not this time."

The furrows in her brow deepen. "Maybe you should, then."

It's not a half-bad idea, but when the backstage doors open, everything is forgotten but the sight of the six band members sauntering into the lounge. Jake Black, the drummer, is first to appear. He's wearing tight dark clothes that show off every one of his many bulging muscles. His eyes scan the room and seem to give a personal greeting to each individual as he flashes a brilliant white smile. I feel a shiver of desire tingle down my spine.

The lead guitarist, Laurent Renault, follows Jake. His walk is so smooth and graceful that he seems to be gliding over carpet rather than stepping down on it. I adore the chocolaty smooth darkness of his skin and have the urge to bite down on it. He's known for his insanely fast riffs and wailing solos that leave me shuddering and breathless after they're over.

Next out is Seth Clearwater, who plays the keyboards/piano. At 17, he's the wunderkind of the group with a Bachelor's degree in Performance from Berklee College of Music in Boston. Off stage, he's always smiling and is known to go out of his way to cater to fans. While I think he's very handsome, he's the only band member I'm not sexually attracted to. I just want to bake him brownies or give him noogies or something.

Then comes Jasper Whitlock, master of those smooth, moving bass lines. If I was only allowed one word to describe him, it would be honey. Golden, flowing, dripping honey. That's the color of his thick flaxen hair, it's the sound his guitar pours over your ears to envelope them, it's his voice that enriches the musical line when he sings background vocals. It's also what he would find in abundance between every woman's legs should he choose to honor her with his presence there. But sadly, he's a taken man, and for that, I won't think twice. When my dad cheated on my mom, he left me with very strong opinions regarding fidelity.

The lone player of wind instruments, Tyler Crowley, is one cool cat. He steps through the door wearing black-as-night sunglasses, an untucked and half-unbuttoned light gray collared shirt under an open black corduroy vest, and slate-colored linen pants. He's the quintessential jazzman and rips sweet licks on his three saxes and two flutes that rival those of "Bird" and "Trane." On its own, a well-played saxophone can move my soul with passionate force. Under Tyler's masterful fingers, the feeling I get is nothing less than orgasmic.

There is a collective intake of breath in the lounge as twenty-two eager women and two enthusiastic men (the six tolerant males who were dragged along by their significant others barely glance up from their electronic devices) prepare themselves for the final band member to appear. It is whom everyone was waiting for, even if he isn't that individual's favorite of the group. That's because E. Anthony Cullen is larger than life, a megastar, a personality that captures the attention of an entire room the minute he arrives.

Even though I appear freakishly calm, my heart flies in anticipation of his entrance. So it's no surprise that, along with the other VIP ticketholders, I let out an audible groan when the door opens and a statuesque blond woman walks out instead of him. She's punching away at a phone in her hand and muttering something that I assume is intended for the Bluetooth earpiece she's wearing. Even without the badge to identify her, I easily recognize her as Irina Denali, the band's head manager. The gossip rags label her a bitch, but I have a strong feeling she's just really good at her job and doesn't take any shit from the myriad of people who surely try to give it to her.

Right on the hem of her dress, so close that he slips through the door as it closes behind her without needing to touch it, is a young man I can't identify. He's tall, but the way he walks—with his shoulders hunched and his eyes focused on his feet—makes him seem so much shorter. His clothes are much too large for his frame, which is impossible to gauge under the inches of extra fabric. I forget about him almost immediately.

Finally, the moment arrives, and Anthony bursts through the door. Really, he only pushes it open like everyone else, but it seems like an explosion occurs in the room. There are squeals—Rosalie makes one of the shrillest—and the volume of excited chatter increases as he dazzles us with a smile, smacks his bandmates on the back, and takes a seat at his table.

"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen," Irina calls out in a commanding voice.

We all quiet at once.**  
><strong>

"You will get a chance to meet each member of Hidden Summit. One autograph and one photo are allowed per ticketholder. We have headshots available for autographs, or you may use something brought with you. Have your cameras ready to go, and if you wish, one of our assistants can take a shot of you and the member."

"I'd like to take a shot with Anthony's member," Rosalie snickers.

"Unfortunately, there is not time for conversation other than a quick greeting. Our schedule allows for an hour, and we will be moving those along who try to linger."

"That gives me two minutes with him. I can get him off in that amount of time." Rosalie is cackling manically under her breath.

I just roll my eyes.

We're near the back of the line, and I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. We may have to rush to meet everyone if the session runs close to the deadline. On the other hand, Irina might relax a bit if there are only a few of us to go and plenty of time left.

The queue moves along at a good pace, and soon, Rosalie is flirting with Jake. I don't know why she's bothering given how he's practically married to that bartender chick (he might be for all we know). Nevertheless, my girl's got her charm turned up to full power. Jake puts his arm around her for the picture, and after the flash, she plants a kiss on his cheek. It's obvious that he's very used to this sort of thing; he simply smiles and nods his head at her.

It's my turn with Jake, so I push my magazine photo forward for him to sign. It's not one of the glossy official album cover shots, though. The picture accompanied an article in _Rolling Stone _magazine and is a casual photo of the band during a jam session at Jasper's house. Everyone seems to be their PJs, and they all look so carefree and, well, normal.

Jake raises an eyebrow at the picture. "Of the many things I've signed, this pic has never been one. Good choice, though."

"Thanks."

"What's your name?"

After I give it to him, he scrawls "Much love to a beautiful Bella" and signs his name. I stand beside him for my photo and then look ahead toward Laurent. Rosalie is sitting in his lap for her photo as he whispers something in her ear. She giggles, kisses him full on the lips, and then hops off. He watches her depart with obvious desire in his eyes.

"Rose is a lot of fun," I say when I pass over the photo for him to sign. I know she'll appreciate any and all efforts I make on her behalf.**  
><strong>

"I'm sure." His voice is smooth silk with a slight erotic French accent woven in. I can't help but stare at his dark plum lips as they move. "She is your friend, oui?"

"Yeah, college roommates. We just graduated, actually, and are following you guys on tour this summer."

"Oh?" The gleam in his eyes brightens. "Maybe she would like to go to a club later? You must come, too." He glances down to scribble under his image in the photo.

"That sounds like fun," I reply nonchalantly, even though I'm shrieking on the inside.

"It will be." He beckons for me to stand beside him. After an assistant takes our picture, Laurent points toward the backstage entrance. "There is a door to the parking lot from in there. I will meet you outside when I am finished."

"Sure, thanks," I say, barely keeping it together. He smirks at me as I move toward Seth's table.

Rosalie is already with Jasper, so Seth is waiting for me, a patient grin on his boyish features.

"Hey, Stalker Girl Number Two."

"What?" I ask, my mouth gaping open.

"You and your friend—I've seen you at all the concerts so far. I really liked that shimmery green top you were wearing last time."

I can't believe this kid is making me blush, but there it is. "Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

He shrugs. "Nah, but it's good enough. I just like to look around during concerts. It gets boring otherwise." He glances at the photo dangling forgotten from my fingers. "Want me to sign that?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I'm Bella." I thrust it forward, and his face lights up when he examines it.

"This was such a great time! We were really feeling it that day." He does his duty to the photo and then pats his lap. "I saw Stalker Girl Number One sitting on Laurent. Wanna make my day?"

I laugh at his playful expression. "If that's all it takes, then of course." I lower myself across his long legs and smile toward the girl who's taking our picture.

"So I'll see you in two days?" Seth asks as I'm standing up again.**  
><strong>

"Actually, you might see us sooner. Laurent invited Rose and me out with him." I pause and study him for a moment. "Um, I'm assuming they'll let you in, even though…"

"Though I'm ridiculously underage?" he finishes for me. "Of course. I'm not a big drinker anyway, not that they would care if I was. Gotta love the power of fame."

"I'll take your word for it," I say over my shoulder on my way to Jasper. "Hope to see you later, Seth."

"Later, SG2," Seth replies cheerfully even as he's reaching for the next picture to sign.

Like Seth, Jasper waits for me to arrive. He smiles, but the dark circles under his eyes and sagging shoulders belie his welcoming attitude.

"You look you just pulled an all-nighter during which you were single-handedly defeating a zombie invasion."

He blinks at me. "Are you saying I look like shit?"

"Uh…" Even at his worst, he'd still be more gorgeous than the majority of guys on the planet. But compared to every other photo or video of him I'd ever seen, he does, indeed, look like shit.

Jasper rubs his eyes and then stretches out his hand for the photo I'm holding. "My baby girl isn't the best at sleeping through the night. She's got a set of lungs on her." He chicken-scratches some jagged lines across the picture and then yawns. "'Scuse me," he mumbles through the hand that covers his mouth.

I get a quick picture with him and hurry away. Poor guy looks like he's going to keel over any second. Reason number one hundred twenty-four why it'll be a long time before I have kids of my own, if ever.

Rosalie is laughing with Tyler, so I lean against a pillar and wait. They seem to be hitting it off pretty well, and I wonder if Laurent's going to have some competition. I think Tyler's a bit too laid-back for anything long-term with her, though. Not that there's much chance of anything serious happening with any of the band members, but it's always nice to dream. Jake's bartender chick did, and it seems to be working out well for her.

Anthony's table isn't free yet, so I grab Rosalie's wrist when she steps away from Tyler.

"Guess what? Laurent wants us to go out with him tonight!" I whisper excitedly in her ear. **  
><strong>

She stares at me. "You're shitting me. There's no way…are you fucking serious?" Her voice creeps up in volume.

"Shh!" I hiss. "He seems really interested in you. I'm just along as the pity invite."

"Holy fuck. This is unreal. I don't even know what to do..." Her dark blue eyes are wide and unseeing.

I pinch her arm, hard. "Right now, you're going to get your shit together and sex up Anthony!" I give her a little nudge toward his table. "Go do your thing."

"Okay, right. My thing." She rubs absently at the red spot I put on her skin and then takes a deep breath. "Here I go."

I squeeze her hand and walk over to stand in front of Tyler, who's doing something on his phone.

"One sec, babe, okay?"

"Sure," I reply and glance off to the side to give him a little privacy.

A minute later, the phone goes in his pocket. "So, Sweetness, is that really your name, or do you go by another?" He uncaps a Sharpie and pulls my band photo in front of him.

"It's Bella," I chuckle.

"Get out! That's even better!" He seems really pleased by my revelation and sketches something by my name. "I would draw a rose, but that's the name of the other young lady who seems to be your friend. So instead, I give you a beautiful swan for a beautiful woman."

It's my turn to be tickled. "You're never going to believe me when I tell you that "Swan" is my actual last name."

He shakes his head. "You're right, I don't believe it."

I whip out my driver's license from my clutch purse and show it to him.

He laughs loudly in amazement. "I'm quitting the band to become a fortune teller!"

I'm still giggling when I leave Tyler and step toward Anthony's table. But as I watch Rosalie walk away from him with a dreamy look on her face, it hits me. I'm about to meet and talk to the man of my dreams, the one I've lusted over for years, the person who has touched my soul like no other. My earlier calm is nowhere to be found. Almost shaking from excitement, terror, and lust, I move closer to the place where one E. Anthony Cullen is waiting for me with a sexy smirk on his face.

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><p><strong>*kiss kiss* Love you all!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm about to meet and talk to the man of my dreams, the one I've lusted over for years, the person who has touched my soul like no other. My earlier calm is nowhere to be found. Almost shaking from excitement, terror, and lust, I move closer to the place where one E. Anthony Cullen is waiting for me with a sexy smirk on his face._

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

"I remember _you_," he says, his liquid voice making my insides quiver. "I was hoping to see you back here at some point." He quickly signs my photo and then reaches a hand across the metal table to take one of mine. "I'm glad it's sooner rather than later."

"Me, too," I murmur, captivated by the way his smooth fingertips rub over my skin and leave it tingling in their wake. "I'm Bella."

His smirk gets bigger. "I know. I asked the other girl. She didn't seem too happy to tell me, though."

"She likes you," I answer truthfully.

"It's too bad for her that I'm interested in someone else."

My heart stutters, but I manage to answer in a mostly normal voice.

"Oh? Is it anyone I might know?" I'm damned proud of myself for pulling off the coy act.

He smiles at the game I'm playing. "I think you know her fairly intimately. I hope I can, too."

Intimately? Is that his way of telling me he wants to have sex? Um, yes, please.

Still, I continue to demur. "Maybe I'll introduce her if you ask nicely."

He drags his thumbnail over the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, and I suppress a whole-body shiver. "After this is over, most of my group are going to Simmer Cove. I'd love to meet you there."

Taking a crazy chance, I slide my hand away and level my own smirk at him. "You mean the club that _Laurent _is giving Rosalie and me a ride to?"

Anthony's smile widens—he realizes what I'm doing and takes the bait. "I think you'll find I travel with a bit more style than he does." He reaches into his jeans and pulls out a phone. "I'll get someone to take you to the green room backstage. You can hang out there until I'm ready to go."

"Hold on a sec." I cover the hand of his that is about to start tapping on the screen. He looks up at me in mild surprise. "I'm not going to let my friend wait outside by herself at night. She's coming backstage with me."

"Is that so?" His eyes are narrowed in thought, as if he's trying to decide whether to be pissed or amused at my directive.**  
><strong>

I notice a flash of movement off to the side and turn to see Irina Denali approaching us at a fast pace. She glances at my fingers that still rest on top of Anthony's hand and then looks at two women waiting by a pillar for their turn at his table.

"Miss, could you please continue through so that others may meet Mr. Cullen?" There's a perfunctory smile on her face, but the tone of her voice is all business. She holds out her arm in a gesture toward the exit.

I withdraw my hand and pick up the photo that now has all six band members' autographs, but make no movement to leave.

"Well?" I ask, smirking in challenge. If he turns me down, I'm going to feel like a colossal idiot—especially given there's a better than decent chance I'll run into him at the club later—but I've been known to do the unexpected or make impulsive decisions now and then. Keeps things interesting and can pay off big dividends.

Of course, it's also blown up in my face.

Anthony makes an obvious show of checking me out one last time and then unleashes a devastating smile that steals my breath away.

"Irina, take Bella and her friend back to the green room to hang until we're ready to head out."

She slowly turns her head to face him, an angry gleam in her eye. "Anthony," she says in a low, forceful voice, "You said you weren't going to—"

"—keep these enchanting ladies waiting any longer," he interrupts loudly, gesturing to the two women by the pillar. His eyes flick back to me and then he winks. "See you soon, Bella. I have a feeling tonight is going to be amazing."

"Me, too," I reply smugly. I take several steps away from the table and turn back toward the band's manager, who is silently fuming and still rooted to the same spot. "Hey, Irina. I'm going to find my girl, Rosalie. Are you coming along, or should I meet up with you later somewhere?"

Irina sniffs in disdain and fixes her ice-cold blue eyes on me. "Wait here for a moment, _Bella_. I'll send an escort over."

She taps a quick message on her phone, and soon, the young man who entered the room with her is coming to join us. I'm surprised he doesn't collide with anyone, considering his gaze is pointed downward the entire time. He shuffles to a stop beside Irina, who barely spares him a glance as she scans the room to make sure the line is moving smoothly.

"Em, sweetheart, be a dear and take Miss—" **  
><strong>

"Swan," I say.

"Please set her up in the green room after she collects her friend." She throws him a condescending smile as an obvious afterthought and then turns on her heel to depart.

He doesn't respond, nor does he look up at me, so I decide to take the initiative.

"Hi, I'm Bella. Nice to meet you." I thrust out my hand into his line of sight.

He stares for a moment and then shakes it. "Hello," he murmurs shyly, almost but not quite lifting his eyes to my face.

I notice that the last person in the meet-and-greet line has just stepped up to Jake's table. The night is clearly wrapping up, and I need to find Rose. When I exit the lounge, she's coming out of a restroom.

"Took you long enough," she pouts, her nose turned up and away from me. "I was beginning to think you'd ditched me."

I laugh at her display of attitude. Even if she's pissed I made her wait, I know that what I'm about to say will make up for any irritation she might have felt. Of course, it's my nature to play her a bit.

"I've got some bad news," I sigh miserably. "We're not riding with Laurent after all."

"What?" she sputters, instantly transforming into a raging she-beast. "What happened? Isabella Marie Swan, what the hell did you do? I swear to god, if I find out you did something to fuck up my chances with the band, you will regret the day we ever got assigned to the same fucking dorm room."

"Like I don't already," I reply, enjoying the purple color in her face. I pretend to inspect my nails. "If you're going to be a bitch about it, I'll leave you here and tell Anthony you turned down _his _ride offer."

Her mouth drops open, and for one long moment, she is completely frozen. Then she throws her arms around me in a crushing hug that's just a bit on the painful side.

"Get the fuck out! You little slut! We're seriously going to be in a car with Anthony Cullen? Holy shit!" She steps back and gapes at me in reverence.

I'm eating up every perfect second of it. "Yup, and we're going backstage to wait for him. We just need to—oh!" Looking for our escort, I whip my head around and then almost jump in surprise when I discover he's barely two feet behind me. I don't even remember him following me out of the lounge.

"Shit, you're like a stealth ninja!" I exclaim, putting my hand on my chest. Taking a step to the side, I rest my hand on his shoulder and grin at Rosalie. "This kind sir is going to take us where we need to go. Rosalie, say hello to—" I look up at him and am surprised to see him eyeing my friend with interest. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

He clears his throat softly and continues to study her. "Em. You can call me Em."

Rosalie doesn't spare him a glance. "Hey there," she says distractedly while pulling out lipstick and a compact from her bag.

"Well, Em, why don't you show us the way to the green room?" I give his shoulder a good-natured squeeze, hoping he hasn't developed an instant crush her. Rosalie uses and abuses guys like him as if it's a hobby.

With obvious reluctance, he takes the lead, and we follow him through two sets of doors and down a long hallway. There's an open door at the end, and busy chatter is emanating from it.

That seems to be our destination, and when Em steps inside, Rosalie and I exchange excited grins. This is our moment.

I enter a smallish lounge area that is littered with personal effects, snacks, and several people. Nearly everyone looks up to check out the newcomers, and while we're met a few polite smiles, most of the room's occupants immediately return to what they're doing. One person, however, is particularly attentive to our arrival.

Laurent, who had been sprawled on a couch and sipping a beer, stands up and walks over to us.

"What a beautiful surprise!" he exclaims, reaching for Rosalie's hand and bringing it to his lips. He repeats the gesture with my hand. "I am happy to see you sooner than expected."

I address the question in his voice. "Anthony invited us to wait here before going to the club. He offered a ride there, as well," I add mischievously, curious to see his reaction.

It was almost a tossup for me between music and psychology as my second major. I love messing with people's heads and watching their responses.

As expected, competitiveness and territorialism flash across his features. His gaze darts to a closed door at the back of the room before flicking between me and Rose. Fascinated, I watch as his head dips slightly, as if in defeat. With obvious effort, he composes his face into a neutral expression, though I can still see tightness at the corners of his mouth. **  
><strong>

"It can be a good thing to have options," he says, looking at me with some significance. If I'm guessing correctly, he believes Rosalie was issued the invitation from Anthony. He's letting me know that he'll settle for me as a second-string substitute.

I smile indulgently. "I agree."

Rosalie quirks her brow at me, then places a possessive hand on Laurent's arm. "The show was incredible. I loved your solo in 'Shatter.'"

She's tall to begin with, and in heeled sandals, Rosalie's height is almost equal to Laurent's. She angles her body closer so that a shoulder is in between him and me.

Her message is clear, and I struggle to keep from chuckling. "I'm gonna grab a water, if that's okay. You two want anything?"

Laurent gestures to his beer and shakes his head. Rosalie scans the drink selection on the far counter. She requests a Mike's Hard Lemonade.

I'm trying to act cool as I cross the room, but really, I want to squeal while doing a happy dance. I can't believe I'm backstage and in the middle of Hidden Summit's normal after-concert routine. Several arena attendants are puttering about, cleaning, while a few people I assume to be part of the band's main crew are unwinding in chairs. Jake and his bartender chick are sucking face in a corner. It's hard not to stare.

I've almost reached the table of snacks when a voice catches my attention.

"SG2! What are you doing here?" Seth walks into the room while pulling a tee shirt over his damp hair. He approaches me and grabs a bag of Cheetos from the mix.

"Waiting for you," I tease, picking out the two desired drinks.

"Yeah, okay," he laughs, rolling his eyes. "Well, your dreams have come true." He flops down into a nearby unoccupied chair and pats his lap. "Want to take it for another spin?"

"In _your _dreams," I giggle, nudging his shoe with my toe.

"You probably will be." He shoots me an impish smile and then glances around the room. "So who's the lucky guy tonight? Ty, Laurent, Anthony? Or are you slumming it with one of crew rats?"

"Fuck you," laughs a middle-aged guy on Seth's right, not looking up from his magazine.

"Well," I reply to Seth, "it was Anthony who invited us back here. Laurent's got his sights set on Rose."**  
><strong>

"You're going for the top dog, huh? Nice. I'm sure you know he's more of the love-'em-and-leave-'em type than a relationship guy."

"I may have heard that once or twice." Anthony's penchant for flings was a hot topic in the gossip rags.

"I'll always be here for you, Stalker Girl. I don't mind picking up the pieces of your broken heart."

"You realize that's not my actual name, right? Occasionally, I like to go by Bella."

He appears to mull it over. "Tell you what. If you manage to get backstage a second time this summer, I'll consider upgrading you to Bella."

"You're on." I look over to Rose, who is batting her eyelashes at Laurent. I'm fairly certain she's forgotten I exist. "So, what's everyone hanging around for?"

He crunches and swallows a mouthful of bright orange. "We do a wrap-up after every gig. It only takes a couple of minutes to touch base. Then boring guys ride the bus back to the caravan while the more interesting types hit the town."

"Are you boring or interesting?"

"Every once in a while, I'll go out, but most of the time, I'm a huge snooze fest."

"But you're coming tonight, right? You know, in case I need someone to glue my heart back together?"

He snorts. "I think you'll be fine for the night. It's the morning that'll be a different story."

"Do you give such helpful disclaimers to all of Anthony's girls?"

"I'm feeling particularly generous at the moment." He wads up his empty Cheetos bag and tosses it at a wastebasket. It falls several feet short. "Wow. I suck."

"I'll get it for you," I chuckle. "I need to deliver this to Rose, anyway."

I put the crumpled bag in the trash and go back to where Rose and Laurent have taken seats on the couch. She accepts the drink with a nod, not bothering to break from her conversation.

There's a hum of activity at the hallway door when Tyler, Jasper, his wife Alice with their tiny daughter, and Irina enter the room. All of the band members and crew look up at them expectantly. **  
><strong>

"Em," Irina barks, "Get Anthony out here."

The young man slips through the closed door in the back and soon emerges with a freshly-showered, absolutely deliciously-looking lead singer. My girly parts immediately start to ache. I want to push him back inside that room and do unspeakable things to him.

Irina glances at the omnipresent phone in her hand. "Pretty good show tonight. Scott, nice save with the lighting snafu. I want to meet with you and Jeff for just a minute before you head out. Anthony and Jake, I'll catch up with you tomorrow to hash out the set list for Tampa." She surveys the group. "Any issues from you guys?"

When no one replies, people start gathering their things to leave.

"Okay, then. Again, nice job. The buses will be heading out tomorrow at noon. Those on the team arranging their own transportation need to confirm with Sadie. Have a great night." A little of the tension in Irina's shoulders dissipates the moment she finishes her spiel.

There's a smattering of hooting and clapping as the group begins to break up. I shift my focus to Anthony, who's smirking at me with a predatory look in his eyes. He curls his finger in a signal for me to come thither.

"Hey," I purr, stopping in front him. "What's the plan?"

He wastes no time with pleasantries. Putting his hands to my hips, he brings me close. My body is pliant in his fingers.

"I've got a car waiting to take us to the club, but I'm very tempted to head straight to the hotel." His warm breath smells of mint and alcohol.

I'm eager to confirm that it tastes as good as it smells, but I'm also in favor of building anticipation. I stretch on my toes and draw his head down close. "Whatever you decide, I'm yours for the night. I would love to dance with you, though," I murmur in his ear.

"To the club then," he decides, his lips moving in my hair.

I step back and look for Rose. She's holding Laurent's hand as they move toward the door. Apparently, they're riding together after all.

I'm not the only one watching her departure. Em stands against a wall and stares with a devastated expression on his face. Seems he does have a thing for her.

Glancing at me, Anthony notices what has captured my attention. "You're coming to hang with us, right, Em?" he calls out.**  
><strong>

The poor boy startles out of an apparent daze and even from across the room, I can see the pink in his cheeks.

"Uh, I...I don't think—"

Anthony places his hand against the small of my back and guides me to where Em is standing. "Come on. Let's get you a girl tonight, huh? I'd hate for you to die a virgin."

"Anthony!" I gasp, feeling bad for Em, whose color is approaching fire engine red.

"He knows I'm just fucking with him. It's my job as the older brother."

Incredulous, I look back and forth between the two. "You guys are brothers?"

On closer inspection, I can see a faint resemblance. They are both tall with broad shoulders and narrow waists. Em is surprisingly well-muscled, though it's not readily apparent with his unfortunate choice of clothing. Their jaws are sharply defined, and they share the same eye shape, although one set is light green and the other is a deep blue.

The reason it's so hard to tell that they're related is the vast difference in their demeanors. Anthony's confident and engaging presence in a room would eclipse nearly anyone's, and next to him, Em is practically invisible.

"Well, suit yourself," Anthony says and shrugs when his silent brother continues to look away from us. "I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"Bye, Em," I tell him over my shoulder as Anthony and I walk away. "It was nice to meet you."

He finally glances up at me and gives a small, half-hearted wave. I think I hear him wish me a goodnight, but I'm not certain.

"So, Bella, tell me about yourself," Anthony says as he settles into the plush leather seat of the stretch SUV we're in. The vehicle begins to move, but I can barely hear the engine from where we sit.

"Hmm, let's see. I'm 22 and just graduated from Boston College. I'm originally from Washington state, and my favorite animals are chickens."

"Chickens?" Anthony laughs. "That's weird."

"What's weird about liking chickens? They're amazing. The chicks are so cute and fuzzy, and some breeds make great pets. When they grow up, they're insanely useful. Besides the obvious egg thing, they eat annoying bugs and provide fertilizer for a garden. And of course, they taste really good when barbecued."**  
><strong>

His laughter gets louder. "I love it. Not many people talk so nonchalantly about eating their pets. I hate to see what you do to things you _don't _like."

"Well, if you don't piss me off, you won't have to find out," I say with a sly grin.

"I'll try my best not to." He makes an attempt to speak solemnly but can't keep the smile off his face. One of his hands moves to my thigh. "I'm so glad you're with me tonight. Not only are you stunningly beautiful, you're clever and funny as well."

I run my fingers over the bare skin of his forearm. "Wait until you see what I can do in the bedroom," I tell him in a low, suggestive voice.

He shifts closer to me, his other hand reaching up to curl around the back of my neck.

"Can I get a preview now?" he murmurs.

Without answering, I close the distance between our mouths. But instead of pressing my lips to his, I brush them against the side of his jaw, down the sensitive skin of his neck, across the collar bone. The musky smell of his cologne is heavenly, and though I have the urge to sink my teeth into his delicious taste, I settle for nuzzling the softness just below his ear.

The groan he makes rumbles in his chest and causes my thighs to clench in desire. Of all the incredible sounds this man can produce, that one might be my new favorite—specially because I provoked it. I lick and suck and nip until I can feel his pulse pounding beneath my tongue.

"Fuck, you weren't exaggerating," he moans in pleasure. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hotel now?"

I move my attention to his ear. "Patience is a virtue, Mr. Cullen," I whisper before drawing his lobe between my lips and sucking gently. "You'll be that much harder when the time comes."

"Do you think that's possible?" He takes one of my hands and pulls it on top of the large, rigid bulge in his jeans.

My breath catches as I squeeze my hand over the solid mass. Holy fuck, I am palming E. Anthony Cullen's dick—that rock-hard, throbbing cock is responding to _me_. This is better than a dream.

"I look forward to finding out," I manage to say, licking my lips.

Anthony sees the movement and suddenly pushes me back against the seat. His mouth crashes down on mine as his hand tangles in my hair to bring me closer.

It's not close enough. **  
><strong>

I wrap my arms around his body and twist in the seat so that I can hitch a leg over his thighs. He pushes his tongue inside my mouth—demanding, not asking; conquering, not caressing.

To my surprise, this sets off some sort of defensive instinct, as though I understand he'll consume me if I let him. I push back, and soon our tongues are warring for dominance.

The temperature around us could boil mercury as our hands, mouths, and bodies tangle together. He twists my breast in his palm to the point of sweet pain, and I yank on the strands of hair clutched between my fingers. My free hand moves to the fly of his jeans just as the SUV rolls to a stop at the back entrance of the club.

"Fuck, baby, what are you doing to me?" Anthony gasps in my mouth. His head falls back against the seat, chest heaving and brow covered in sweat.

I'd love to collapse against him, but again, I somehow understand that's not the move I should make. Straightening my clothes and smoothing back my hair, I work to get myself under control.

"I think it's called foreplay," I suggest in an innocent voice.

He laughs—a deep reverberating sound that causes more wetness to collect between my legs. "I might not last long enough for the main event," he says.

I just smirk and wait.

After a minute, his breathing has calmed and the swell in his jeans isn't quite as prominent. He rakes a hand through the floppy hair on the top of his head. "I don't think I've ever been so ready for a night out to be over, and it hasn't even started yet," he muses, casting a sardonic glare at building.

"Take me dancing, Anthony," I tell him in a voice that leaves no room for argument.

His eyes widen at my tone, and for a moment, I wonder if I've pushed too far. But then his eyes sparkle with amusement, and he gives a low chuckle. "I'll never be able to say no to you, will I?"

My triumphant smirk remains in place, and he shakes his head in wonder as he leans forward to push vehicle door open.

"Dancing, it is, my dear."

* * *

><p><strong>So yeah, forget the posting schedule. It's just gonna keep coming... xoxo<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A representative from the establishment is there to help us out of the SUV. He greets us and hands Anthony a card before leading the way into the dimly lit club. I try not to seem too eager as we walk through a lavishly decorated hallway and to an elevator that takes us to a restricted area on the second floor. I've never seen this side of the club scene before.**  
><strong>

We walk through a door into a large room that overlooks the rest of the club. It is enclosed by sections of glass and has an open balcony that juts out over the main dance floor. There are several circular booths with curtains available for privacy. Laurent, Rosalie, Jake, and bartender chick are seated at one of the tables, drinks in front of each.

"Hey, man! Get your ass over here!" Jake calls out to Anthony.

Our escort waits for a nod from Anthony and then disappears into the shadows. A bartender arrives at the table seconds after we slide onto the deeply cushioned seat.

Anthony orders a round of tequila shots and then turns his attention to the group.

"Jake, Vanessa—this is Bella." He flashes a cheeky grin to Laurent. "I hear you've already met and disappointed her with your shocking lack of hospitality."

Laurent smiles tightly and nods his head. "You're absolutely right. It was shameful. My apologies to both of you ladies."

"We're just happy to be with you tonight," Rosalie gushes, slipping her hand beneath the table. Laurent relaxes and presses a kiss in her neck.

I hold out my hand across the table to Vanessa, who stares at it with a frown on her face. After a moment, she purses her lips and gives me a limp shake.

"Pleased to meet you, bartender chick," I say brightly.

Her eyes narrow threateningly, but Jake just laughs. "I like that. Babe, can I call you Bartender Chick from now on?"

"No," she says flatly.

Jake laughs even harder, and I can tell I've made an instant enemy. I feel bad for all of about half a second.

"Bella, Bella," he nods his head, "I remember you. What's your last name, beautiful Bella?"

Now Vanessa's pretty much livid, and I fight back a grin. Before I can answer Jake, a new voice does it for me.

"Swan is her last name," Tyler announces, taking a seat beside Laurent. "She and I have a mystical connection." He bumps fists with Jake and slaps Laurent on the shoulder.

Anthony brushes my hair over my shoulder and leans in. "It seems you've made quite the impression with my friends," he murmurs in my ear. **  
><strong>

"I'm unforgettable." His mouth is right there, and I am compelled to turn my head to have a taste.

I only meant to give a quick, chaste peck, but I can't seem to get enough. Anthony deepens the kiss when his tongue traces my lower lip before slipping inside.

The arrival of the tequila shots disturbs our make-out session, and after wiping my lipstick off his mouth, I face the group again. Vanessa is giving me a death glare, and Rosalie also looks unhappy for some reason. I realize I'm going to need to pull her aside soon and find out her deal.

We make quick work of the shots. Anthony and I lick salt off each other's necks and use the lime as an excuse to twist our tongues together again. Vanessa seems to be in a slightly better mood after the alcohol kicks in, and Jake takes advantage of the fact by groping her. Tyler is casting a discerning glance at some tightly-dressed girls down on the dance floor.

It appears to be a good time to download with Rose, so I excuse myself to the bathroom and ask her to join me. Anthony squeezes my ass when I stand, and I'm half-tempted to forget about Rosalie altogether. But some inane sense of loyalty kicks in, and I grab her hand as we head to the ladies' room. I really don't know why I bother putting myself out for her sometimes. It's not like she'd do the same for me.

"So, you're pissed at me. Again. It's about Anthony, isn't it?" I ask when we're standing in front of the mirror fixing our hair and makeup.

"I'm not pissed," she protests.

I give her a dubious look.

"I'm just a little jealous, but you can hardly expect otherwise," she huffs.

I don't bother hiding my display of surprise. Rosalie isn't one to willingly admit a weakness.

"I mean, Laurent is fuck-hot, and I really want him, but damn! You're with _Anthony_! I'd kill to be the one kissing those perfect lips."

"I hope not," I say, wariness in my voice. She sounds a little too passionate for comfort.

"You know what I mean. He's just so…" A sigh rushes past her lips as she fans herself.

"Yeah, I know." I relax and let out a squeaky giggle. I sound like a high school girl, but seriously, Rosalie's right. Tonight, I am the envy of hundreds of thousands of females all over the world. "But seriously, are you going to keep throwing these tantrums? I need to know if I should give a shit or ignore you."

"You can't expect me to be happy about it."

"Actually, I do. I'd be happy for you if our situations were reversed."

"You're a saint," she shrugs. "I'm a bitch."

I can't argue with her last statement. "Alright, from now on, until you tell me otherwise, I'm going to assume your attitude is because you wish you were me."

"I wouldn't go that far," she says with a laugh. "But yeah, don't pay any attention to me. I'll get over it."

We hug and return to the table, arm in arm. Anthony stands up and hands me a shot before I can sit. At my questioning look, he takes me around the waist and raises his own glass.

"Drink, so we can dance, so we can go," he commands in a low, husky voice. "And then you and I can really get to know each other."

Lust sparking in my eyes, I throw back the liquid—vodka, it seems—and grab his hand. He chuckles as I drag him toward the circular staircase that leads down to the dance floor. There's an expressionless bouncer at the bottom who nods as we pass.

When we move into the crowd, several flashes go off from phones of nearby patrons. Anthony doesn't seem to mind—he draws me flush against his body and drops his hands to my ass. My arms reach up to his neck as we move together.

"Mm, this is nice," he murmurs. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head, and I'm surprised by his uncharacteristically tender gesture. Taking a cue from him, I snuggle my cheek into his shirt and breathe in his scent. For the length of a heartbeat, I let myself imagine that this isn't just a one-night stand and that we're dating—in love, even. When his fingers tip up my chin and his mouth sweetly covers mine, I can almost believe it.

We stay that way until the end of the song—swaying sensually together, sharing lingering kisses, slowly exploring each other with our hands. When the music changes to something with a more erotic, faster beat, he turns me in his embrace so that I can feel his thick erection pushing into my ass.

The alcohol in me has reached its full potency, and I grind wantonly over that sinful hardness. The pulsing ache between my legs intensifies with each pass I make. I can barely hold back the incessant moan that expresses how he's making me feel—damn, it hurts so good. **  
><strong>

His hands aren't helping my situation any. They slide up and down my sides, brushing the curve of my breasts, tracing my hipbones. He's arched over and wrapped around me, his breath hot and heavy on my neck.

My mind is hazy with bliss, and it seems like it's just us in our own private world. Even though I realize numerous pairs of eyes are on us and our every move is documented by pictures being posted online, for me, nothing exists outside the sphere that encloses our touching bodies. It doesn't bother me that I'll be criticized by celebrity watchdogs tomorrow or ripped apart by Facebook fan group crazies. I don't _want _the recognition, of course—I'm not a fame whore…just an Anthony Cullen whore. He's worth the price I'm sure to pay.

The song fades out. When the first notes of the next one play, both Anthony and I freeze. I turn to look up at him, and we burst out laughing. It's one of _his _songs—a remix/house version.

"I seriously hope they don't expect me to dance to this," he says in amusement as we make our way to the circular staircase. "I mean, I'm full of myself, but even _I _have limits to my narcissism."

"It's a good song, though…or was until someone went crazy with the drum machine."

He pushes his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead and winces. "You'd be surprised how little control I have over what the studio does after we record the final cut. I should have been more careful when I negotiated the details of our contract, but I was still pretty wet-behind-the-ears way back then."

"It wasn't all that long ago," I point out. "It just seems that way because you've released so much music in a short amount of time. Two studio albums in three years, plus tours…you guys must have been working your asses off to make it all happen. And the quality gets better and better. Amazing."

Anthony shrugs in an offhand manner. "Eh, inspiration's a strange thing. You have to take advantage of it when you can." He sits at our now-empty booth and nods for a bartender to come over. "What's your pleasure, babe?"

"I could go for some sort of hefeweizen."

"Make it two," he says to an eager-faced young man who scurries away to fetch our drinks.

Jake flops down into onto the seat beside me. "Hey, Beautiful Bella. Having a good time?"

"The best."

Anthony taps my nose before smirking at Jake. "Where's the ball and chain?" **  
><strong>

"Bathroom," he replies, grabbing my beer before the bartender can set it down. He takes a chug and then pushes the bottle into my hand. "Mm, good stuff. Bring two more, would ya?"

"Right away, Mr. Black!"

"Gotta love it," Jake sighs. "We're probably the same age, and yet he's kissing my ass like I shit Benjamins."

"Whether you do or not, steal someone else's beer next time," I grumble, wiping off the mouth of my bottle with a cocktail napkin.

"Aww, don't be like that. Just think, it's almost like we're kissing." He puckers his lips and makes slurpy smacking sounds.

"Oh, really?" Vanessa marches up to the table, glowering at me as is now her custom. She shifts her glare to Jake. "You'd better hope I never find your mouth on anyone but me."

I make no effort to hide the roll of my eyes. I don't know what her damage is, but I've never taken a single inappropriate action toward her boyfriend. She needs to get over herself.

Jake launches into a discussion with Anthony about baseball team rankings, and I only pay partial attention. When I was a kid, I went to games with my dad, but I haven't followed a season with any seriousness since my early teens. If I have to guess, though, the Cubs still suck and the salaries of the Yankees team members could bankroll a small country. It's comforting to know there are certain things you can always count on.

The guys chat for a good half hour. I'm perfectly content sipping my beer and taking in the atmosphere. Anthony never stops touching me the entire time—his hand rubs my thigh, his fingers skim over my arm, his lip brush against my shoulder. I hadn't expected him to be so affectionate—I never thought he could be _better _in real life than in my dreams.

Tyler drops by for a few minutes with a giggling female on each arm. He goes through a quick round of introductions, and I'm tickled by how he calls me his "beautiful cygnet." One of his girls thinks that a cygnet is some kind of electronic device, instead of a young swan, and the scowl on Vanessa's face when she hears the mistake is deeper than the one she reserves for me. That makes me chuckle.

I don't see Rosalie or Laurent anywhere, so I assume they've left. When a song I really like begins to play, I gesture to Anthony that I'm going to dance. He's deep in a conversation with Jake about the White Sox and just nods in acknowledgement. **  
><strong>

I've never been shy about doing things solo, including hitting the dance floor. Then again, I rarely remain that way for long, and tonight is no exception. Within minutes, an adventurous blond guy is working his way in my direction.

If I wasn't already leaving with the hottest male in existence, I would have indulged the newcomer in a dance. Without the impossible standard set by Anthony, this guy would be fairly cute. But he's of no interest to me, so I angle my body away from him and continue to do my thing.

I don't know why I expected him to take the hint—guys at clubs rarely do.

"Hey, gorgeous. You shouldn't be dancing alone. It's practically a crime."

"My date's sitting this one out. I'm good, though…thanks."

"Hell yeah, you're good. This date of yours must not appreciate what he's got. How 'bout you dance with me instead?"

I sigh and face him. "It's nice of you to offer, but I'm not interested. At all."

"Damn, baby. Go easy on the shade." He puts a hand on my arm. "Come on, just one dance."

The unsteadiness in his grip confirms what I already guessed—he's got a good buzz going on. I'll have to be a bit more obvious with my message.

"How about you take your fucking hand off me and get the hell away before I use your nut sack as a piñata?"

He stares in shock. "Easy, babe. No need to get violent."

"Get your hand off me," I hiss. "Now."

He looks down at my arm as if he hadn't realized he was still touching me. He jerks away and begins to back off the dance floor with a drunken sneer on his face. "No wonder your guy left you. He probably can't stand to be around such a fucking cunt."

I turn my back on him. His insult doesn't bother me—I've been called worse—but he's completely erased my desire to dance. Irritated, I stomp off the dance floor without paying much attention to my surroundings and nearly crash into Anthony.

"I came to rescue you from that piece of shit, but it seems I'm completely unnecessary," he muses with a smile. **  
><strong>

"I'm no delicate flower. Remember the chickens," I say, drawing my finger across my throat in a slashing motion.

He bends in close and, with his tongue, traces the line I just made on my neck. "So tell me, dangerous girl, how do I stay on your good side?"

I shiver, my libido instantly revving from zero to raging lust. "You're doing fine so far," I reply with a low moan.

His hips press into me and leave no doubt about his intentions for later. "Do you want to go back to my hotel now?" he whispers.

I bite my lip and look up into hooded eyes that reflect our mutual need.

"Let's go."

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><p><strong>So funny thing about the "he's worth the price" bit is that I wrote it over 2 months ago, just before Rob and twigs came out in public. I must have channeled Tyler's sixth sense! <strong>

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><p><strong>I'm working on the next chapter of "The Flower Girl" and should post today. I haven't abandoned "A Horse," but I'm in the heads of TFG's ExB right now. Soon... :) xoxo<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks again to DayDreamDreamer for her diligent work in pre-reading and catching my typos in the original posting! I've revised a little since then, so any mistakes are mine.**

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

"I am _so_ in love!"

"Again?"

I look up from my laptop as Rosalie waltzes through the hotel room door. Eleven a.m. I didn't expect to see her until at least one.

"Laurent is amazing—an absolute beast in the bedroom! The things that man can do with his fingers…" She trails off with a dreamy expression on her face, then focuses on me. "But you had Anthony. Tell me he's just as good as we imagined. Don't kill my fantasy—lie if you have to."

"No need for that," I reply smugly. "He was everything…and more. I can't even begin to explain it."

Rosalie flops down onto her bed and shoots me a withering look. "Try anyway. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'm in no mood to give you a smackdown now."

How does one describe heaven? What exactly was it about the mind-blowing sex that made it so incredible? Was it his confident attitude—that of a man who knows his way around a woman's body? Perhaps it was how he put the knowledge to use—how he found the spots that drove me crazy, exploited them, brought me to multiple orgasms through them. Or maybe it was the unexpectedly tender concern he showed for my comfort afterward.

A pillows arcs through the air and smacks me in the face.

"I want deets, bitch! Spill 'em."

I give her the bare minimum to get her off my back. For the first time in my rather robust sexual history, I am reluctant to kiss and tell. She does have to rouse me out of a dreamy daze several times when I get lost in my memories. I'm not apologizing for anything, though. How am I supposed to concentrate when I'm recalling the pounding rhythm of his thick, heavy cock between my legs? It's not possible.

"When did you end up leaving his room?" Rosalie has moved to the bathroom and is washing the remnants of last night's makeup from her face.

"Um, I think it was around five."

"Five? Why the hell so early? Did he kick you out or something?"

"No, he was still asleep. I didn't want to wake him up."

Rosalie pokes her head out of the bathroom with a look of astonishment on her face. "Help me understand this. You and _Anthony Cullen_ had wild animal, come-to-Jesus sex, he washes you in the shower after more of said sex, then dresses you in his clothes and tucks you into his bed…and _you_ are the one sneaking out the morning after? Am I missing something?"

I give her my signature shrug of indifference, even though I'm not entirely feeling it this time. "Yes, Anthony was surprisingly sweet and attentive, but I'm not about to delude myself into thinking that my life will become the plotline of a romance novel. Flings and one-night stands are what he does, and I don't expect anything more. Honestly, I'm not even sure I would _want _more with him."

"So you're saying that if he pledged his undying love, dedicated the band's next album to you, and wanted to spoil you rotten, you'd tell him to go to hell?"

"Well, if he does dedicate the next album to me, I might reconsider." I give her my best smirk.

"It would be convenient if you were with Anthony," she says in a thoughtful voice. "You could double with me and Laurent."

I raise an eyebrow. "I don't think one night with The Beast counts as dating."

"For your information, he wants to see me again. We're getting together after the show in Tampa."

"Seriously?"

"I'm almost insulted by the way you said that—like you can't believe he'd actually be interested in me for more."

My eye roll shows I'm not going to dignify that with a response. Actually, it's the other way around—I'm surprised Rosalie is willing to see him again. I hate to be cynical, but I doubt she would have agreed if he didn't have celebrity attached to his name.

I know I'm not that much better, lusting after Anthony as I do, but I'm positive I'd feel the same about him even if he weren't a huge star and drop-dead gorgeous. Anyone who can make music like he does and sing it in such a passionate way is guaranteed to own my heart.

What I didn't tell Rosalie is that it kills me to have slipped away while he slept, without even a note saying goodbye. I was honest about the reason—I have no desire to put faith in a fairytale—but I don't feel as nonchalant about the situation as I'm acting. Even though the little girl in me wants to believe in a magical happily ever after, I know better than to leave my heart open to hurt. I don't want to experience the devastation when it the romance is over, as it invariably will be.

After sleeping most of the afternoon away, Rosalie is ready to hit the town. Even though I'm in a weird mood and don't feel like going out, I dutifully play the part as her wingwoman and/or DD while she looks for her next conquest. The girl may be "in love," but she's still Rosalie Hale.

Within thirty minutes of entering our first club of the evening, she's got a catch on the line. However, when she checks her phone and sees a text from Laurent, she cuts the fish loose. Color me surprised.

I don't recall Rosalie ever voluntarily ending a night early, but after floating on Cloud Nine for a bit, she has me drive her back to our hotel. I'm tempted to take pictures of her goofy smile for posterity's sake. Could Laurent really be the man to tame the untamable?

He seems to be off to a good start. Rosalie spends the majority of the drive to Tampa deep in a text conversation with him. She takes twice as long as usual getting ready for the concert and is uncharacteristically jumpy as we wait in our seats.

She had messaged Laurent our location, and when he walks onstage, he blows her a kiss. The squeal she makes is deafening in my ear, but my glare goes unnoticed. All through the evening, she giggles as Laurent sends winks and meaningful looks her way.

Their mutual eye-fucking isn't the only performer-audience interaction happening. On several occasions, I catch Anthony staring at me. In spite of myself, my body trembles from the connection we share as he sings his own words to me.

_…a need twisting with fire, a stain burning on my soul…_

_…find me lost, bared bones, frozen flesh for us…_

_…keep dark hope alive, you won't leave me left behind…_

I don't reach out like usual when he descends from the stage to run through the crowd. But he stops at my row anyway, pushes past the two people in the end seats, and crashes his mouth onto mine.

He's gone as quickly as he came, and I'm left stunned. That was definitely not something I was expecting.

Rosalie gives me a strange look, but I don't have the mental power to decipher it. She points up to the huge screen where the kiss is being displayed for everyone to see.

"You'd be fucking crazy not to take whatever you can get from that man." She shakes her head at me.

I'm sure the rest of the concert is spectacular, but I don't hear a note of it. My head is too wrapped up in what ifs and why nots.

"I'm supposed to wait here. Laurent's gonna send someone to bring me back stage," Rosalie says when the final encore is over. "What about you? Is Anthony…?"

I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. "We didn't exchange numbers or anything, and I'm not going to chase him down like some sort of desperate beggar."

"Why not? That's what we were doing before," she points out truthfully.

"Yeah, well, it's different now. As a groupie, I was okay with being pathetic. But I refuse to be one of those girls who can't understand the meaning of 'no.'"

"How much of a bigger 'yes' do you need than someone shoving his tongue down your throat in front of thousands of people?"

"Just drop it, okay? I'm gonna head back. You know the drill."

She gives me a pitying look but nods at my words. "I'll call you if I need anything, though I can't imagine that happening. I'll be back tomorrow morning in time to make checkout."

We exchange kisses on the cheek, and I join the line of people departing the seating area. I'm almost through the doors to the concourse when I think I hear my name. I swivel my head to see if I can catch the direction of the voice, but it doesn't call out again. Figuring I must be imagining things, I step forward to exit the main arena.

The chest that suddenly materializes in front of my face is surprising firm when I smash into it.

"Fuck!" I cry out, bringing my hand to my aching nose. My eyes are watering from the collision, and I can't make out the face of the person I'm about to bitch at.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

I recognize those soft-spoken tones.

"Em?" I use one hand to wipe away my tears while the other reaches out blindly in front of me.

"Are you okay? Damn, I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to—"

"It's fine, and so am I." I give him a reassuring pat and again am surprised by the hardness of the muscle I'm touching. "Jesus, Em. Are you, like, Clark Kent with a body of steel underneath your regular clothes?"

My vision is clearing, and I can now make out the blush growing on his face.

"Um…I…"

Feeling just a bit devilish, I grope those inviting pecs one final time before bringing my hands back to myself. I'd bet all the money in my meager savings account that the guy is sporting wood right now.

"So Em, what can I do you for?" I know I'm not playing nice, but I can't seem to help myself.

"Oh, uh…Anthony. I'm here for Anthony. I mean, he wanted me to get you."

I had guessed as much, but when I hear him confirm it, a jolt of excitement shoots through me. It is quickly followed by trepidation.

It makes no sense to follow Em back to his brother. It might seem that Anthony likes me—hell, maybe he actually does—but in the end, the only thing I'll get from playing with the fire that is Anthony Cullen will be a burned heart.

And some spectacular sex.

"Alright, Em. Lead the way."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You can't put it off forever, Bella. Sooner or later, I'll get the truth out of you."

"Mm. Less talking, more rubbing."

Anthony laughs and digs his fingers deeper into a tight shoulder muscle. "Maybe I'll withhold the rest of your massage until you tell me why you ran out on me. Is that a good threat?"

I moan as he works out a knot. "No. This is your punishment for seducing me on the painfully lumpy couch of your craptastic dressing room."

"Bella, tell me…" His hands pause in their movements.

"Anthony," I whine, letting my naked body slump against his. My lower back brushes against his semi-erect dick.

He grunts.

I smile.

"Already? Even for a 25-year-old, your recovery time is impressive." I slide a hand behind me and curl it around his girth.

Before I am able to give him a few teasing pumps, he closes his own hand around mine.

"How about we move this party back to my hotel room? Unless you really want to go another round on this couch that you love so much…?"

It's hard to get myself under control when my fingers are wrapped around his hardening cock, but he has a valid point. This stupid piece of furniture really sucks.

Our clothes get put on a lot more slowly than they came off, especially when we keep interrupting the process by kissing and groping one another. It's almost two a.m. by the time we stumble out of the tiny dressing room he'd been given. I don't expect to see anyone in the hallway other than maybe the night cleaning crew or security, so I jump a little when I notice Em's lengthy frame by my feet. He's sitting on the concrete floor, his back leaning against the wall. With a lowered head and closed eyes, I wonder if he's asleep.

Anthony stops at his brother's feet and aims a light kick at the black Converse. I smile at the sight—I have the corresponding women's pair in my hotel room. Em stirs and pulls out ear buds that I hadn't noticed. He looks up at us with large, mournful eyes, and I have the sudden urge to give him a hug. He must be taking Rosalie's tryst with Laurent pretty hard.

"What's up, Em?" Anthony asks, draping an arm over my shoulder.

Em pushes himself to his feet. "You haven't been answering your phone. Irina needs to talk to you as soon as possible."

"What could be so urgent that she has to plant you outside my door?" He doesn't seem too concerned about whatever's causing Irina's haste.

"I was supposed to get you an hour ago, but I waited until you were, uh…finished."

Poor Em looks so mortified that I impulsively grab his hand.

"That was sweet of you," I tell him, hoping to put him at ease.

I don't think it helps. He stares down at our joined hands with alarm on his face. Anthony notices, of course, and laughs.

"Easy, Bella. Don't make the poor kid come in his pants."

"Anthony!" I snap. "Knock it off, for fuck's sake." I might not have personal experience with sibling relationships, but it's obvious that Em is floundering. I let go of his fingers, dimly noting their calloused state.

"Irina said something about Perez Hilton and pictures and…" he casts me a nervous glance, "…and Bella."

Anthony pulls out his phone. "I guess I'd better call her, then. She won't leave me alone until I do."

"I think she's still asleep in the admin lounge. She was waiting for me to get you, but when I went to tell her you were, um, busy, she had passed out." He looks down at his feet. "I didn't want to wake her up."

"Ha, I don't blame you," Anthony replies with a knowing grin. He turns to me. "I'll go let the Wicked Witch yell at me for a bit. Why don't you wait in the dressing room until I'm done? Trust me, you don't to be caught in her crossfire. I'll be lucky enough to come back with my balls still attached," he chuckles.

For Em's sake, I swallow all the suggestive rejoinders that spring to mind. I simply nod and accept the quick kiss he plants on my lips.

As I watch him depart, I hear the door open to the dressing room. I follow Em inside, where he starts gathering up Anthony's things.

"What in the world are you doing?" I ask, wondering why he'd be taking care of such a menial task.

"My job."

He stuffs Anthony's sweaty stage clothes into a plastic bag and moves on, picking up all the trash that's strewn about. Anthony isn't the neatest person I've ever met.

I bend down to grab an empty soda can lying by my feet. With the two of us working together, it only takes a few minutes to straighten up the room.

"Thanks," he mumbles when we're finished.

I take a seat on the lumpy couch. "How are you getting back to the hotel? Are you riding with us?"

"No, Irina." He glances at the door as though he's unsure if he should leave or not.

"Why don't you keep me company while we wait?" I pat the cushion beside me. "This thing is big enough for both of us."

After a moment of indecision, he lowers himself onto the couch, as far away from me as he can get.

I study him in curiosity. "Hey, can I ask you a question? Why are you working for your brother? I mean, you don't seem to enjoy it all that much."

He starts to fidget, his fingers twitching in his lap. For a moment, I think he's not going to answer, but he takes a deep breath.

"I'm sure you've noticed I get nervous around other people," he murmurs, not looking me in the eye. "I had a few bad panic attacks when I was a kid, and since then, I've preferred staying around people I know really well." His expression is grim.

I wondered if his panic attacks were a result of his parents' death in a fire when he and Anthony were young. According to what I've read, their aunt and uncle took them in.

Em shook his head as if to dispel whatever thoughts were in it. "When I graduated high school, Anthony was nice enough to give me a job and bring me on tour with him."

"Hmm, I think he's getting just as much, if not more, out of the deal."

"It's not only the job. He also helps me when…" Em's voice trails off, and he doesn't finish the sentence.

I'm dying to know what he was going to say but can tell he's reluctant to talk about it. I change the subject.

"There's not much out there about you, though now I can understand why. I knew Anthony had a brother but never saw any details. So, you're younger…let me guess—21?"

"I just turned 22 a few days ago," he admits.

"Well, hell! Happy birthday, Em." I put as much warmth as I can into the sentiment.

He smiles shyly, and it shocks me how the soft expression changes the way see him. For the first time, I notice that he's actually rather good-looking.

"It's really too bad about Rosalie and Laurent," I muse to myself.

"Yeah, it is," Em asserts rather forcefully. "She shouldn't be with him."

I'm a bit taken aback by the emotion in his voice. It seems so incongruous with his reserved personality. Of course, I've only spent a few minutes with him here and there, so what do I know? I give him some sort of weird grin that's part apologetic and part sympathetic. I'm pretty sure it comes across looking like a cringe.

He seems rather worked up, and the fingers on his left hand are moving a lot now. Squinting, I lean forward and watch them carefully. There seems to be a pattern, and it looks familiar…

"Is that a minor blues progression?" I ask hesitantly.

"What?" Em gapes at me like I'm speaking in a foreign language, though to him, maybe I am. His fingers have become still.

"It looked like C-minor-seven, F-minor-seven, A-flat-seven…you know—tonic, dominant, subdominant…" There's no change in his bug-eyed expression. "Okay, maybe you _don't _know."

He manages to pull his jaw off the floor. "It was a minor blues progression. I was just…sometimes I don't even realize I'm doing it. But how did you...?"

I shrug. "Music major. I play guitar and have taken some jazz theory classes. I'm not, like, super at it or anything, but I've sat in on a few jam sessions with friends." I chuckle. "Of course, you also happened to pick a key that I've practiced a lot. I think I could play C-minor blues chords in my sleep. If you'd gone with, say, E-flat, I just would've assumed your hand had nerve problems or something."

Em lets out a soft hum of amusement, and again, I am treated to that gentle smile.

"It must be incredible to hang around such talented musicians all the time. Do you ever play with them?" I ask.

Em starts to speak, but his quiet voice is drowned out by the sound of the door opening.

"Hey, how's my baby-momma-slash-new-fiancé doing?" Anthony sings out merrily.

"Excuse me?" I stare askance at him.

"Oh, you don't know our story? Apparently, we've been seeing each other in secret for several months, and I knocked you up. You were furious that I was messing around with other women. But, you've taken me back, and tonight during the concert, I asked if you would marry me." He smirks. "_Obviously_, you said yes."

Mrs. Bella Cullen? That has a nice ring to it. The teensiest bit of a wistful smile forms on my lips, but it is quickly replaced by a smirk to match Anthony's.

"Of course I did. Though I was tempted to tell you to fuck off when you proposed without giving me an obscenely huge ring." I wiggle my bare finger in his face.

He leans in close and sucks the finger into his mouth. His tongue swirls over it, and I can't stop a low moan from escaping.

He pulls back to let my finger slide out of his mouth and then put his lips to my ear. "I've got something obscenely huge for you," he murmurs.

I'd laugh at his line, but I'm too damned horny.

"How about we get back to your room so you can give it to me?"

One moment I'm pressing my thighs together while sitting on a threadbare couch, and the next, I'm being carried out the door in Anthony's arms. I barely have the presence of mind to throw a wave to Em before I'm lost in hungry kisses.

—_O _SHM _O_—

"Tell me where."

"Right…there! Oh god, yeah. Keep going."

A bead of sweat rolls down Anthony's temple as he slams into me. "I'm so close. Gonna come...so hard!" he grunts heavily.

"Don't stop, don't stop." I keep up the breathy chant, focused on chasing the crest of the wave that is about to crash over me.

Anthony's fingers dig into my thighs as he repeatedly yanks me onto his driving cock. He's on his knees between my spread legs, his back hunched over as he channels the entire force of his muscular body into filling me.

And yet, I need more.

"Harder," I beg. "Fuck me harder!" It's right there, that ball of building pressure, waiting to be burst open. I just need a little more…

Then I feel him swelling, stiffening, and finally pulsing within me. But though he must be finished, he continues to thrust, pushing me closer, closer and…

"I'm coming!" I gasp, digging my heels into his ass and clamping down on his slowly softening cock. Curling up my pelvis, I squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of my orgasm. Anthony waits until my legs loosen from around him and fall to the bed before he eases out.

"Thanks for hanging in there," I tell him breathlessly as he's pulling off the condom and cleaning up.

"We aim to please."

"Is that a royal 'We,' or are you speaking for Anthony, Jr., as well?"

"C, all of the above," he answers with his signature smirk and lies down on his side, his head propped up by his arm.

"Well, both of you do a very good job of that."

He nods in acceptance of the praise, but then his expression becomes serious. "Bella, did you leave my room in Miami because you didn't want to see me again or…because you thought the morning after would be too awkward or…?"

I don't really want to talk about it, but I suppose he deserves an explanation. I meet his eyes with an earnest gaze.

"Look, Anthony, it's no secret how you roll when it comes to women, and I'm fine with that. I'm also careful not to let myself get attached. So, yes, I did want to avoid any sort of goodbye weirdness that morning, but the bigger truth is that I needed everything to end on my terms.

"See, my mom had been blissfully unaware that my dad was cheating on her until it all exploded in her face one day. I saw her go from a strong-willed, independent person to someone who let herself be swept away by things she felt out of her control. I don't want anything like that to happen to me, so I tend to be proactive."

"Or you're afraid to trust anyone," he says gently.

"That's definitely part of it. I don't have a problem admitting that I'm guarded when it comes to getting close to people."

"Hmm." He's quiet for a moment, his stare vacant as if in deep thought. Then he grins. "It's going to make things difficult for us when the baby comes."

"For sure," I deadpan. "But we've got a few months to figure that out. I'm not even showing yet."

"Well, if we're taking things one step at a time, how about you stay with me? We don't leave for Jacksonville until tomorrow morning, and today I have a completely open schedule for once."

If I were a cartoon, my eyebrows would be floating somewhere above my head. "Are you serious? After what I just told you about preferring to keep my distance from people? I'm more than ecstatic to be your fuck buddy, but hanging out together toes the line to the danger zone for me."

"Certainly you have friends—you're touring the country with Rosalie, after all. Maybe once you and I get to know each another better, we can develop a friendship." He grins mischievously. "One with benefits."

I shake my head. "I don't think it works like that—at least not for me. I've only been in a few semi-serious relationships, but I can tell you that I don't like to share."

"Okay, then we won't share," he says, almost dismissively.

Now my eyebrows are somewhere in space orbit. "E. Anthony Cullen not have a different girl in each city? That's, like, defying the laws of physics or something."

"Hey, I'm not that bad!"

At my pointed stare, he grins sheepishly. "Not _every_ city." He reaches out a hand to cup my cheek. "I like you, Bella. I want us to spend more time together and see what happens. Usually, I can't do something like that because of my travel schedule, but, hell, you've got the exact same one right now."

I snort. "So it's really a matter of convenience."

"Absolutely," he teases and slides his body on top of mine. The tip of his again-hard dick grazes my entrance. "See how easy that was?"

I moan at the sensation as he slips through my folds and rubs over my clit. "That's not fair. How can I think straight when you're doing that?"

"You're not supposed to. You're supposed to agree that after I fuck you senseless, we'll try to sleep for the few hours left of the night, and when I wake up, you'll still be here. Then we'll order in brunch and find some way to occupy ourselves until I take you out to dinner tonight." He uses one hand to squeeze my breast while the other reaches for a condom on the nightstand. "Go ahead, Bella, say yes."

"No," I reply, but it's a weak-willed whimper that squeaks out of me, and Anthony can taste his victory.

"Just stay with me. One day, that's all I'm asking right now." His cock circles maddeningly just outside my entrance.

I groan when he breaks contact to roll the condom onto his shaft. "Fine," I concede with a needy grumble. "Now hurry up and get that dick inside me before I change my mind."

"Anything for you, babe," he replies, and in a smooth, powerful thrust, he fills me yet again.

True to my word, I relax enough to doze off after our fast and furious round of sex. When my brain registers the sun brightening the room, I fight the urge to flee and, instead, scoot a little closer to the left side of the bed where Anthony is sleeping. I'm not a cuddler, and it seems he isn't, either, but I feel like I need some sort of reassurance that I'm not making a huge mistake. I rest my head against his bicep and go back to sleep.

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><p><strong>Thank you so so much to everyone who supported me in the Twific Fandom Awards! I can't even... Congrats to all the winners, and thanks to the organizers...HUGS!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Things are a little awkward when we get up for the day. It's clear that neither of us are in familiar territory. Normally, my one-night stands and I part ways in the morning, if not before. It's strange for me to take a shower and then sit down to omelets and orange juice in a man's undershirt.

"So, uh, what's a day in the life of Anthony Cullen like?" I ask after breakfast, curling up on the couch with my coffee.

Anthony sits down beside me, stretching my legs out over his lap.

"On tour? The cities are different, but the routine is the same. The stage and sound crew set up, and then we run though the set list to make sure everyone's on the same page. The guys usually have a jam session if there's extra time."

"Do you get in on the action, too?"

"Sometimes I'll grab Laurent's acoustic, but just to fuck around." He grins. "I don't go near the keyboard because Seth stands over me the whole damned time and gives me shit. He's right, though, I'm pretty bad at it."

"I'm not sure which surprises me more—that you're not great at everything...or that you actually admitted it," I tease.

His eyes narrow, and suddenly, I'm on my back, lying flat on top of the cushions. His lips hovers inches above mine.

"You have such a smart little mouth, don't you? I think there are better ways you should be using it," he says in a low, dark voice.

"Oh, yeah?" My fingers trace down the dark lines of a dragon on one side of his torso. Its tail continues beneath the hem of his boxers, and so does my hand.

Over the next hour, we explore several uses for my mouth.

We end up back in the bedroom. After he proves that his own oral skills are just as good as mine, we lie on our backs, my head resting on a pillow, his on my stomach. I run a hand through his damp hair.

"So, before you rudely interrupted yourself, you were telling me about the band's routine. What happens after rehearsal?"

Anthony yawns and then hums lazily. "Well, depending on how much time we have before the final sound check, we'll go to our trailers or hang out backstage. Then we get ready for the show, do the show, have the meet and greet, and it's on to the next venue."

"You get days off, though. What do you do then?"

"A lot of that time is eaten up by travel. Since we have such a compressed schedule, we're only hitting the largest cities. The farther west we go, the longer it takes to get to the next place. I usually just catch up on sleep, work out, and relax while we're on the road.

"When we have a day or two off in a city, some of us go out and hit up beaches or clubs or whatever. That's about it." He yawns again.

I tug on the hair in my hand. "Come up here. You're going to pass out any second."

Rolling over, he buries his face into my stomach and nips at my skin before crawling up the mattress. He stretches out beside me and is asleep almost immediately.

We're woken later by a ringing phone and pounding at the suite's outer door. It's Irina, and she's armed with a scowl of disdain for me and a fuming glare for him. Apparently, she had a rough morning trying to deal with a media situation.

She tells me to check my Facebook account, and I find out that someone has hacked it. Acting as me, the person is posting inflammatory remarks about Anthony's fellow band members, other musicians, and even the political situation in the Middle East. Stunned, I agree to let Anthony's team take action on my part to have it shut down. I know I'm in over my head when it comes to being in the public eye.

Over two hours later, Irina feels satisfied enough with the security of my online accounts. She gathers her things, sighs heavily, and trudges out the door.

"Is it like this all the time?" I ask Anthony as a car is driving us to my hotel. "I don't know how you deal."

"It's crazy, that's for sure. I actually don't mind it much, but being a celebrity by choice isn't for everyone." He gets a faraway look in his eyes as he stares out the car window.

I wonder if he's getting second thoughts about wanting to spend time with me after what just happened. "We don't have to go out tonight. I mean, it was hard enough trying to sneak out of your hotel without getting mobbed. Staying in is fine with me."

Anthony puts an arm around my shoulder and draws me close. "No, I want to take you to a nice dinner, have some good conversation…do things the right way."

"The right way? I wasn't aware there was a checklist," I say with a smile. "Besides, it's a little late for that. You should have thought about it _before_ you knocked me up."

When we arrive at my hotel, I change into a rather conservative dress. I know it's almost certain that we'll be photographed tonight, and I want to look classy versus trashy. It's not that I normally dress like a two-bit hooker, but it's hard not to be self-conscious with the critical and often mean-spirited eyes of the paparazzi on you.

I really hate those fuckers.

The restaurant is not brightly lit, and I'm thankful, but Anthony and I are seated in a central location. He's at ease being in the spotlight, and I'm impressed with the polite way he handles interruptions of our meal by fans seeking autographs and pictures.

Our conversation is the same as always—easy and fun—and the food is excellent. Other than the frequent clicks from pictures being taken, it feels like a normal, successful first date.

Anthony asks me to stay the night with him, but I grudgingly decline. It's not that I _don't_ want more incredible sex, but I need to take a step back and regroup. I'm not used to being around someone who's larger than life, and I have to process what it all means.

Rosalie's not in our room when I return, and all of her things are gone. She did leave a note explaining that she would be staying with Laurent for the night and riding the tour bus to Jacksonville. I shake my head. Typical Rose. She's picky and demanding, but after making up her mind on something, she dives in head first.

It's hard for me to fall asleep. I'd actually hoped to use my friend as a sounding board, but now I'm on my own. I wonder how long her relationship with Laurent will last and if she'll be hanging out with him for the rest of the summer.

At least I don't have to worry about covering the cost of hotels on my own. Her credit card number's already listed on our reservations, and she knows full well I wouldn't be able to afford lodging without sharing a room. Money isn't an afterthought for Rosalie—it's not a thought at all. She's always had virtually unlimited access to her parents' wealth but is surprisingly level-headed about it. She'll buy something if she likes it, regardless of cost and not _because_ of it.

It was a subject of contention when we first started hanging out together. I'm not a moocher, and I refused to let her pay my way. But sometimes, the places she wanted to go or the things she wanted to do were way outside my budget. After a few arguments, I stopped fighting it. There's a point where stubborn pride just becomes stupidity.

I glance at Rosalie's empty bed and think of her new relationship with Laurent. It so hard to believe that she's with a celebrity and that I practically am, as well. None of it seems possible.

And yet, my phone lights up with a very real goodnight text from Anthony. He sends me another message the next morning as he's getting on his "bus." He has a customized trailer for travel, as does Jasper and his family. Jake and Seth share one between them, and Laurent and Tyler occupy another. When I'd asked him why some of the band members choose to also pay for hotel rooms in some cities, he gave me a sheepish look.

"Since Jake hooked up with Vanessa—Bartender Chick—Seth likes to spend nights at hotels whenever he can. Laurent and Tyler usually stay in their trailer, and of course, Jasper always does. As for me, well…"

He didn't have to finish. It was easy to guess he wouldn't want to give all the one-nighters access to his personal space.

I hit the road shortly after Hidden Summit's caravan departs. I hardly miss Rosalie's company since one of us is usually asleep as the other drives. In fact, now I can sing at the top of my lungs without a care.

At the next venue, I have to fight through a horde of nosy concert goers when someone recognizes me in the entrance line and starts taking pictures. This causes a good deal of commotion as others whip out their phones and begin to crowd around. Before it gets too crazy, arena security comes to my rescue and escorts me to my seat. I didn't expect to see Rosalie there—I thought she might be standing in the wings or some other exclusive location.

She greets me with an enthusiastic hug.

"Bella! Can you believe all this? It's beyond belief. It's just…just…unbelievable!"

I laugh at her vocabulary issues. "Yeah, it's definitely hard to believe."

"It was _so_ nice traveling here with Laurent. I'm spoiled for normal modes of transportation now. There was so much space to move around! We had lunch in bed while watching a movie, and I didn't have to use a nasty bathroom at a rest stop." She gives me a look of curiosity, though there's a hint of something else—judgment, maybe? "I loved watching the guys do the sound check this afternoon. I'm surprised you weren't there with Anthony. He said you wanted time to yourself?"

"Yeah, I just needed to think about some things."

Rosalie shakes her head. "Whatever, Bella. I'm not going to try anymore to understand what the hell's wrong with you. But don't come crying to me when he ditches you for someone else."

I just roll my eyes. I tend to do that a lot around her.

The show is thrilling as always. Again, Anthony locks eyes with me several times, and I feel dazed by all his attention, especially in public. Can I handle this? Is he truly worth changing my entire lifestyle?

At intermission, Rosalie goes backstage with one of Irina's assistants. I'd like to get a pretzel and beer from a concession stand, but there's no way I'm risking my neck like that. It's bad enough overhearing snarky comments from people seated near me.

I get out my phone and see that I've missed a recent text from Anthony.

**_When do I get to kiss you again? After the show? Sooner than that?_**

I smile. At least this time, it won't be a surprise when my mouth gets molested as he passes by.

"Bella?"

My grin widens. "Hey, Em! Come to keep me company?"

"Uh, Anthony heard about what happened to you in line earlier. He sent me to see if you need anything."

That was sweet of him, but…

"Geez, Em, I don't know what kind of deal you guys have worked out, but I'm not going to let you wait on me. Here, have a seat." I pat Rosalie's empty chair.

He looks around as if Big Brother is watching him. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'm supposed to—"

"—find out if I need anything," I cut in, "and it turns out I do. I want you to hang out with me for a little bit." I can see that he's nervous to be around so many people, so I give him my most inviting, non-threatening smile.

Hesitantly, he lowers his tall frame into the seat. "So, um…how are you?"

Surprised but happy that he initiated conversation, I keep my answer light. "Well, the humidity's kinda gross, but I'm getting used to it. The next two weeks are all southern cities, so the weather won't change much, huh?"

"The air does get drier as you move west. That should help."

"Yeah." I try to think of another innocuous topic. "The band's playing well."

Em's face darkens, and I get another fascinating glimpse of strong emotion from him. "Jasper flubbed the turnaround in 'Whisper for You' and wasn't lock-step with Jake in 'Shatter.' As usual, Laurent and Tyler tried to outdo each other in their 'Catch Midnight' solos and ended up destroying the somber tone. Seth kept spacing out and sounded robotic. He's too young and talented for his own damn good."

Em is practically growling at the end, and his hand is tapping out furious rhythms on his leg.

I'm taken aback by his outburst and don't know what to say, so I just stare at the rapidly-moving fingers, hypnotized by their speed and dexterity.

"Wow, sounds like you know their songs inside and out. Though I guess it's not that surprising since you hear them all the time—the 'off' parts are probably obvious to you." I frown, feeling like I need to defend my earlier statement. "Still, while the performance may not have been perfect, they're doing it live, which adds a certain measure of difficulty. You can't expect the same quality as a studio recording."

"Maybe," he grudgingly allows, still drumming away.

I search for a way out of the awkwardness. "You must think Anthony did okay, though. You never said anything about him."

Where Em was heatedly irate just a moment ago, now his face is blank, emotionless. "Anthony is always great at his job. He does exactly what he's supposed to do." His voice is flat.

"Which is—?"

He shrugs, his eyes moving over the empty stage. "Look good, entertain, draw a crowd." He pauses, lowers his gaze, then continues in a barely audible voice. "Let the world hear poetry in the music."

"Yes," I whisper, my heart skipping a beat.

I think of how the words of Hidden Summit's lead singer touch my soul and shudder in desire. Rosalie is right.

If I am ever going to risk my heart, it will be with someone like Anthony—a person who so obviously understands the deepest emotions and the repercussions of experiencing them. It's clear from his songs' lyrics that love is the treasure he seeks, and when it is found, he will never betray it.

How could I not explore the possibility with him?

I'm excited, nervous, and impatient. Now that I've given myself permission to try, I want to start right away. Maybe Rosalie and I aren't so different, after all.

I turn to Em, who is watching me intently, and grab his forearm. He startles at my sudden movement but doesn't pull away.

"Can you take me to Anthony now? Is there enough time?"

His eyes narrow as if he's trying to see inside me, trying to measure some hidden quality. I tilt my head in bemusement.

"What?"

Again, he glances toward the stage. A band crewmember has begun to prepare the set for the second half.

"If we hurry, you should have a few minutes."

I don't want to miss my chance. I can't stand the thought of waiting over an hour to let him know how I feel.

"Then we'd better hurry. Come on!" My hand slides down his arm to close around his hand. I inadvertently cut off his tapping rhythm as I pull him to his feet.

Em takes the lead and guides me to yet another small backstage dressing room. He knocks quietly.

It appears that we interrupt a pacing session when Em pushes the door open. Anthony stops midstride.

"Bella?"

I rush over and throw myself onto him. He's stunned but manages to catch me and stop both of us from falling onto the floor.

"What's this all about?" he laughs into my mouth as I attack him.

"I think we need to take a step back. It's too much, too soon."

"Um, okay?" His words are muffled by my tongue.

"Yeah." Kiss. "I mean, we're still getting to know each other." Deeper kiss. "I should be your girlfriend before I'm your fiancé." I'm devouring him.

He pulls back and sets me on my feet, his body shaking in laughter. "Is that so? I've never had one of those before. Sounds like fun."

There's muted conversation outside the door. Em takes a step inside the room.

"Five minutes," he murmurs to his brother.

"Damn," Anthony says, giving me a look of longing. "Not enough time to celebrate."

"We'll make the best of what we have," I insist, my hands going to the button on his jeans.

"Hell yeah."

Our mouths crash together as I push him down onto the closest chair. I barely register the sound of the door closing behind me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to DayDreamDreamer for her awesome beta work (revision mistakes are mine) and oldenuf2knobeta for prereading!<strong>

**A metric ass-ton of hugs to you wonderful readers and reviews out there!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After Jacksonville, I agree to travel with Anthony and let him ship my car home. I need a few days to get comfortable with the idea of "living" with a guy, but it helps when there is staff dedicated to do most of the cleaning, cooking, and laundry. It's almost like being in a hotel suite, which—by the way—Anthony has stopped utilizing. We do make good use of the bedroom in his trailer, though, and spend a lot of time of his free time there.

I'm getting to know the other members and several people on the crew. Seth and I had an easy rapport from the minute we met, and now I view him as the younger brother I never had—despite his frequent sexual innuendos. I'd probably have a similar sibling relationship with Jake if it weren't for Bartender Chick. She makes no secret of her dislike of me and does all she can to limit my interaction with her boyfriend. I'd fight it, but she's got her man's balls so tightly in her fist that it's really not worth the trouble.

I don't see much of Jasper or the rest of his family. On the few occasions that I've talked to Alice, she seems down-to-earth and interesting, but parenthood is really taking its toll on her and Jasper. Apparently, the baby has terrible colic and spends most of its waking hours screaming its head off. I'd probably be stumbling around in a daze, too, if I had to deal with that.

I once asked Jasper why Alice and little Sophia didn't stay home so he could concentrate on making music. He gave me a patient smile and said he didn't see the point in having kids if he wasn't around to enjoy them. Honestly, he doesn't seem to be enjoying much of anything at the moment, but I do respect his commitment. My own father certainly failed in that regard. From what I've seen, Jasper is a great dad who'll only get better as the kid grows up.

I can't imagine _him_ cheating on his wife and walking out on his family.

Tyler is almost the polar opposite of Jasper. He doesn't believe in monogamy or the family life. He says he's married to his music, and his only steady girl is his alto sax, Sandra. No one's allowed to touch Sandra except him, but since finding out my love for saxophones, he lets me tool around on a backup, "less expensive" horn—it's only valued at around $8000 versus the $14k that his vintage Selmer Mark VI is worth. As a music major, I know my way around all the standard instrument families, but I'm still honored by his trust in me.

Laurent spends a good deal of time making goo-goo eyes at Rosalie. The more I get to know him, the more I'm squicked out that I ever thought he was hot. I mean, it's not that he's gotten less physically attractive in my eyes, but I can't reconcile his looks with his smarmy, inconsistent personality. He drools over Rosalie and acts like she's the center of his universe, but every so often, I'll catch him leering at me or Vanessa. I wonder if it's less about who we are than it is_what_ we are—the supposedly untouchable girlfriends of his bandmates. In that way, he and Rosalie match because they always want more than they've got.

My friend hasn't spent much time with me much since she got wrapped up in Laurent. When I try to talk to her, she blows me off and blames the side effects of new love. I wonder if she's still harboring jealousy over me being with Anthony instead of her.

Whatever. I'm not a fan of drama.

I can understand why she'd be jealous, though. Anthony knows how to have a good time. Besides all the fabulous sex, we go out a lot. He gets into exclusive clubs and restaurants, and I meet all sorts of famous people.

I also learn firsthand what it's like behind the scenes of a concert tour. It's not glamorous by any stretch, and although I'm having a blast, I'm beginning to understand why some don't like the lifestyle.

Since getting mobbed at the Jacksonville concert, I haven't gone anywhere by myself. At least the hate isn't as bad as it was the first week that Anthony and I went "public." Irina was a little too eager to inform me that several "anti-Bella Swan" Facebook groups and websites had sprung into existence. I've stopped going on social media sites because of all the crap about me that's flying around.

And then there's all the partying that seems to be a big part a young music celebrity's life, at least in Anthony's eyes. Normally, I love going out, but the scene is starting to wear me down. We may hit up a different club each time, but the nights are beginning to seem repetitious and just plain boring. Other than Bartender Chick, I'm the only one to feel this way. Anthony is as enthusiastic to go out as ever. Jake, Tyler, Laurent, and Rosalie are right there with him. They stay at clubs and bars until they close and sometimes even get the management to let them stay after hours.

I nearly fell over in shock the night I fought to hide a yawn and noticed Bartender Chick doing the same thing. For the briefest instant, we shared a sense of empathy, but when Jake started teasing me about being tired, her disdainful glare was back in full force.

In Houston, I realize that I need a break from the long nights out.

"Hey Babe," Anthony says to me after the concert. We're with the rest of the crew, waiting for Irina to run the wrap-up. "Tyler found this new spot we wanna try out. It's about 45 minutes away, but it supposed to be a pretty hot scene."

I'm sitting on his lap in a plush leather chair, and he's running his hands over my thighs.

"Don't we have to leave at seven tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, so?"

"We probably won't get back to the trailer until four or five, and you know how car sickness makes your hangovers so much worse."

"Then I won't drink too much."

"You've come back drunk every time we've gone out except for that first night," I point out. "We both know it's gonna happen."

"Relax, Babe. I'll be fine."

I've already learned that the dismissive voice he's using means he's not taking me seriously. It pisses me off a little, so I decide to push the issue.

"Well, I could use a change of pace tonight. Maybe order some take out, watch a movie, and curl up on the couch. What do you think?"

He shrugs. "Alright, if that's what you want."

"Great! I could go for Chinese."

"That sounds good. Could you order some Szechwan Beef, extra hot, and put it in the fridge for me? I'll have it for lunch tomorrow."

My brow crinkles. "You're not—? Oh."

Irina enters the room, and my disappointed expression goes unnoticed. It's probably a good thing he didn't see—I feel a little stupid to have assumed he'd change his plans for me. I don't want him thinking I'm a demanding girlfriend like Bartender Chick.

Anthony's focused on the upcoming night and plants a distracted kiss on my lips as he leaves the green room with the group of club-goers. I'm left with my thoughts and the team members who are returning to the caravan. No one opts to get a hotel room because of the early departure time.

There are a few raised eyebrows aimed in my direction when I get on the 15-passenger bus without Anthony. I realize it's the first we've voluntarily gone our separate ways. Em is sitting shotgun, as usual, so that he doesn't have to share a seat with anyone. I take a seat in the next row back and lean forward to tap him on the shoulder.

"Hey! Any plans for tonight?" I ask.

He scoffs, but even that noise comes out sounding subdued. "I'm heading back to my trailer, as usual."

"How'd you manage to swing your own, anyway? I mean, the crew rides a coach bus, and even Irina has to share a trailer with three other people."

"I, uh…well…" His anxiety factor jumps up about three levels.

"It's fine if you're not comfortable telling me," I assure him. He seems so stressed. I wish I could see him relaxed for once. "I'm getting Chinese and watching a movie in Anthony's trailer. Want to join me?"

It's a token gesture, and I don't expect him to accept the offer. But after a few second's pause, he gives a hesitant nod of his head. I manage to keep the astonishment off my face when he asks what time he should come over.

"Whenever you want." I say. "I'm going to figure out a place to order and have John pick it up. Other than changing into some PJs, I'll be ready to hang as soon as we get back."

"Back" was a relative term considering we weren't leaving the venue site. The twelve semis belonging to the band were parked in a secure lot about a fifth of mile from the arena. It was an easy walk, but for safety reasons, most of us took a shuttle bus. I, for one, wasn't risking a parking lot encounter with pissed-off Anthony fanatics at 12:30 at night.

After letting myself into the trailer, I get comfortable, washing off my makeup and changing into simple cotton shorts and a tank. I'm twisting my hair back into a messy bun when there's a knock at the door.

I open it for Em, who stands on the trailer steps wearing thin flannel pajama pants and a plain white undershirt. It's the first time I've seen him in anything remotely form-fitting, and though I know he works out, I'm not prepared for just how cut he is. Someone needs to give this boy's wardrobe a serious makeover—it's a damned shamed to hide such a nice body. Even better, I see dark swirling shadows through the shirt fabric.

I'm trying to make out the designs when he takes a step inside the trailer. He suddenly freezes, his eyes growing wide.

"What is it?" I ask, looking behind me for the source of his fascination.

"You're beautiful." His voice just louder than a whisper.

I'm stunned less by the words and more by the fact that it was _Em_ who said them. It's just as shocking when heat rushes to my face in the form of a blush. There's a strange feeling in my chest, maybe because of the raw honesty and emotion in his voice.

He's still staring, and it makes me feel off-balance. I need to lighten the mood.

"What the hell, Em—do you have a private gym or something in that trailer of yours?" I ask, playfully squeezing his bicep.

"Yes" is his simple, earnest answer.

"Oh. Well...that explains it."

We're both standing in front of the open door, so I make a gesture for him to continue inside. "I'm sure you know this place better than I do, so there's no point in telling you to make yourself at home."

"Anthony and I don't spend much time together," he says, glancing around the trailer. "You've been in here more in the past two weeks than I ever have."

I don't know what to say to that, so I settle myself on the couch in the trailer's small living room area. Em's gaze moves between the empty space beside me and an armchair. He's full of surprises tonight as he chooses to sit on the cushion next to me.

"So, what's your pleasure? Action, horror, drama, comedy?" I nudge his side with my elbow. "Chick flick?"

"Actually, I brought something…but if you don't want…I mean, it's not a big deal if…"

"You brought a movie with you?" I look at his empty hands in confusion.

He turns a cute shade of pink and reaches behind him. His hand slips under his tee shirt and pulls out a Blu-Ray disc that was tucked into the waistband of his PJs.

"A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," I read from the case. "What's it about?"

His face lights up. "Well, it's got Sean Connery, so it's already a winner in my book. Actually, it was his last leading film role before he retired. He plays Allan Quartermain, and he's sorta forced into helping the British Empire prevent an international war. He ends up teaming with Captain Nemo, Tom Sawyer, Mr. Hyde, the Invisible Man, Dorian Gray…Mina Harker…" He flushes even darker than before.

"Ms. Harker of Dracula fame?" I ask with a smile.

"Yeah, but in this movie, she remains a vampire after Dracula's death," he says excitedly. "She acts all prim and proper, but there's this scene when she fights Dorian Gray, and her hair's all wild, and she just looks so…so, um…"

"Hot?"

"Yeah, really hot," he laughs.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to live the rest of my life without experiencing her hotness. Let's watch it."

John, one of the assistants, drops off our Chinese food about twenty minutes later. Em retrieves it because I'm riveted to the screen. It's a really good movie, and I agree with his assessment of Mina's hotness. I'd totally do her.

Though most of my attention is on the TV, I notice that Em seems more relaxed than before as we chow down. I put Anthony's food in the fridge, but the rest is fair game for both of us. We decide to split our meals and share them. I ordered beef and broccoli with spring rolls, while Em picked out sweet and sour chicken with French fries. I give him a little grief for his anti-thematic choice, but he justifies it by dipping them in his sweet and sour sauce.

Stuffed and tired, I relax on the couch and watch as Mina and Dorian have it out with each other. It's intense, but I have a hard time paying attention as my eyelids droop and my muscles slacken.

I'm barely conscious as my head falls against the back cushion and then slides down onto Em's shoulder. There's a dim part of my brain that remembers he's anxious about contact, but fatigue muddies my thought processes.

I have no idea how he reacts except that he doesn't move away. Just before my world fades to black, I think I feel him support my limp body by curling an arm around me.

The jolt of the semi moving forward wakes me from my deep sleep. Groggy and disoriented, I stretch and look around. I'm in Anthony's bed but don't know how I got there. Anthony is splayed out on top of the covers beside me, asleep and making occasional moaning sounds. He reeks of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

I feel like crap, but it's a guarantee that he's doing worse. I force myself out of bed to fetch a bottle of water and some aspirin. I have to go through the living area to get to the kitchenette, and I notice that the Chinese food mess from last night is gone. Anthony certainly wouldn't have taken care of it in his condition, so I assume it was Em. I wonder if he put me in bed, too.

The drive to Phoenix takes us over 18 hours, and Anthony spends a good portion of it either passed out or throwing up in the bucket I bring to him. He must have been on a major bender last night. I'm glad I didn't go out. I got trashed last week and don't want to repeat that experience any time soon.

Em answers my text and confirms that he cleaned up and put me to bed. It cracks me up how even his electrons manage to sound soft and awkward. But I'm pleased that he came a little out of his shell for me. Hearing his laugh is like finding a perfect pearl in an oyster. And like a treasure hunter, I want to collect more.

The days seem to fly by much too quickly. From Phoenix, it's onto San Diego and then a short hop to L.A. We round out California with a show in San Francisco—the third concert in as many days. The band takes a day off when they arrive in Las Vegas, and Anthony plans a full day of activities. We hit casinos, restaurants, clubs, and even catch a comedy show.

It's an amazingly fun day, and Anthony showers me with affection. He also works me up with hot kisses and wandering hands. If it weren't for the almost-constant snap of pictures being taken, we would have had done a lot more. Neither of us want to see our naked asses on the cover of _US_ magazine, however.

By midnight, I'm exhausted and my feet are killing me—you think I'd know better than to wear stilettos for a day on the town—but Anthony is still going strong. While he feeds off the celebrity treatment, all the attention just wears me down. Even Jake and Bartender Chick bow out to spend a night at the Bellagio. Rosalie's ready for action, as usual, and Laurent is right on her midnight blue heels. Tyler hooked up with someone midday and hasn't been seen since.

Anthony and I are sitting side by side at a private table in a club when he suggests going to MGM Grand for some poker.

"Babe, I think I'm done," I tell him, massaging my calf.

He pulls me in close and trails his lips up my neck to my ear. "How am I supposed to win without my good luck charm?" he whispers.

I weave my fingers in the long hair on the top of his head. "Come back with me," I murmur. "I'll play strip poker with you."

His grip tightens around my waist. "God, that sounds so good."

By now, I've been around him enough to know the word he hasn't yet voiced.

"But…?"

He moves back in his seat to look me in the eyes. "This is Vegas, Bella! Since we're taking off after the show tomorrow, it's our only night out. How can you even think about going back to the trailer and missing it all?"

"Missing what? I've been to casinos before. I don't think the games are played any differently no matter where you go."

"Have you been to the Grand?" he challenges.

"Okay, so the décor isn't the same! Maybe the lemon garnish in my vodka will be cut in a different shape. I want to spend some time with you. Alone." Both my volume and my gaze drop. "We've done a lot of things together, but I feel like I'm still just getting to know you."

"Aw, baby, come here." He wraps his strong arms around me. "I know the schedule's been crazy, but there's just over two weeks left. Then we'll go somewhere fun. Just the two of us."

This is the first we've talked about staying together after the tour. Anthony hadn't brought up the subject before, and I was too chicken shit to face reality. But now it's out there.

"That sounds amazing…" I hesitate only briefly before taking the plunge. "Look, I hate to bring up the future and logistics and all when our relationship is so new, but following the band on tour was my break after finishing school. Soon, I need to look for a job and focus on a career. I don't want to be the college grad who lives with her mom forever. My loan payments are going to start up in a few months, and I don't have much saved up."

"Seriously, Bella? You're worried about money? How much do you owe?"

"What?"

"How much? Is it more or less than twenty grand?"

I frown. "Well, I qualified for a lot of need-based scholarships and financial aid, so that helped. I ended up borrowing twelve thousand."

He scoffs. "Pocket change. Have Irina put you in contact with my account manager. Let him know where the money should go, and I'll sign off on it."

"Anthony!" I gasp. "I can't take your money. I mean, that's just…it's too much."

"It's really not a big deal. I plan to win at least twice that at the tables tonight." He smirks and takes a sip of his beer. "I want you around, and if you can't because of something as simple as money, I'll take care of it."

I shake my head. I'm still not able to understand how so much money to me is a non-issue for him. "But…why?"

Anthony laughs, his rich voice vibrating the air around me. "I know it's not possible that the always-confident Bella Swan doubts her worth. It must be something else you're asking me."

At my gaping stare, he chuckles again and puts a finger under my chin to close my jaw. "You're crazy sexy and fuckhot in bed. We get along really well, and you make me laugh. _Normally_," he winks, "you're a lot of fun to be with. We'll let you slide this time."

A tender kiss is placed on my lips as he cups my cheek. "You manage to do with few others can—keep me in my place. We're a good match, Babe. You and me, we're great together."

His expression is sincere, and I give him a kiss of my own. Things quickly heat up between us, but a tiny part of my attention is elsewhere. I can't figure out what or why, but something feels…off.

When a hand slips under my skirt and works its way toward my thong, I pull my lips away from his and arch an eyebrow. Regardless of my confused state, I still want him in a very bad way.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to come back with me?"

He sighs and draws back his hand. "I do, but I want to stay out longer, too. You know how Laurent cleaned me out at the tables in New Orleans, and I'm sick of hearing Rose talk shit about it. I need to shut both of their faces tonight."

I nod in understanding. "Are you okay with me going back?"

"You know I'd rather have you with me, but I'm not your warden, Babe." He flashes me one of those delicious smirks.

I bite down on his lower lip, then let it slide through my teeth. "No, although that sounds like something fun we can try later."

"See what I mean?" he exclaims happily, "You're amazing. Perfect."

A text from Laurent draws his attention, and I use the diversion to make my exit, giving Anthony a goodbye peck on the lips. My extremities tingle from the wine I drank earlier, but my walk is steady. I don't want to wait for the band's driver to pick me up, so I get a cab instead. The caravan is located on the outskirts of the city proper, and it takes about thirty minutes to get there with traffic. That gives me plenty of time to control the urge to freak out that's building in me.

The overwhelming collage of blinking lights outside the cab windows is the perfect visual representation of what's going on inside my head. There's a storm of thoughts flashing and moving and I don't know where one ends and another begins.

I pick the money thing to start with. It's uncomfortable enough when I accept the gifts he insists on buying me. Letting him take care of such a significant loan amount—significant to me, anyway—is a completely different level of too much, especially since we'd only known each other for such a short amount of time. I can just imagine what the media would say if they found out. I'd be labeled a gold-digger or a whore, for certain. Yeah, I know better than to let strangers affect me with their words, but there's a piece of me that feels like it's the truth—that he's paying for my time.

It would be different if we were in a long term relationship with a future, I guess. I'd been overcome with impulsive excitement when I suggested the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. Now I wonder how we could ever work out. Hidden Summit is based out of New York, and my plan has been to go back to Seattle and look for a job, or even internship, in the field of journalism. I'd love to work for a music publication, but I'll settle for getting any type of writing experience under my belt. Should I put those dreams on hold to see where my relationship goes with Anthony? Do I want to?

So much of the answer to that question depends on how I feel about Anthony, and the problem is that I'm just not sure. I mean, I like him...a lot. All the reasons he gave for why we're good together are true. We do get along well, and the sex is nothing short of amazing. We laugh, have fun, enjoy each other's company…

What about…love? Do I love Anthony? Do I even know him well enough to decide one way or the other? I thought understanding his lyrics would be the same as understanding _him_, but I have yet to see a glimpse of the uniquely passionate soul that gave life to his songs.

That part of the problem. I consider our relationship to be sort of shallow. We go out, we tease, we get naked, but there's never been any sort of meaningful conversation. I don't place all the blame on him—hell, I'm certainly no Aristotle—it's just that our conversations never take such a direction.

I don't have any standard for comparison, but I always believed that love would knock me over. It'd be a source of light and warmth, maybe not always fireworks, but definitely something more intense than what I feel for Anthony. Something deeper.

Shit, it's all so confusing.

The cab drops me off at the security entrance to our gated lot, and I slowly climb out.

The tour's not over yet...I still have time to figure things out.

If only I had a clue how to do that.

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><p><strong>WELCOME to any new readers from the ever-awesome TLS site! Thanks Capricorn75 for the rec—you put the snap, crackle, pop in my crispies!<strong>

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><p><strong>Beta DaydreamDreamer and Prereader Oldenuf2knobeta = Fictastically Awesome!<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Anthony's trailer is farthest away from the security gate, so it takes me a few minutes to walk there. The faint sounds of a piano reach my ears, and I smile at the thought of Seth playing so late at night. Then I realize that the music isn't coming from his and Jake's trailer or the one that houses the instruments.

It's coming from Em's.

Puzzled and more than a little curious, I take a seat on the steps leading to his door. The melody seems familiar, but I can't pair it with any song I know. It's melancholy and full of longing in its minor key, yet there's an undertone of hope with the unexpected but completely organic appearance of major chords in the upper register. It's breathtakingly beautiful, and suddenly I know.

I know what love feels like.

This song is love.

I am drawn into its story until the music stops abruptly. Its loss almost causes me to gasp. I wait for it to begin again but am disappointed to be met with a long silence.

Standing, I'm about to knock on his door when there is a whisper of music again. This time, the voice belongs to an acoustic guitar. The notes are the same, but the song takes on a different quality—more humble, vulnerable…real.

I hate to interrupt, but the familiarity of the musical lines is a riddle begging to be solved.

When I knock, the sound cuts off as if someone has strangled the musician. I want to giggle as I picture Em's shocked face at discovering he has a visitor so late at night.

He doesn't disappoint. The lines in his brow are deep as he stares at me in surprise. He's in a pair of PJ bottoms, green this time, with another white undershirt.

And what is that? Do I detect signs of a semi at his crotch? Could it be that he was thinking of Rosalie as he played?

I tear my gaze away and feel a slight ache between my own legs.

What the hell?

I mean, Anthony did leave me wanting, and I'm a very sexual being, but christ, it's _Em_ in front of me. He's one of the last people on earth I'd expect to give me a lady boner. Thank god ours aren't as visible as men's, though my cheeks are more pink than usual.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" he asks. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's great," I lie rather pathetically. "I was just coming back and heard music coming from your trailer. What were you playing?"

"Um, uh…"

He looks absolutely panicked, and I reach out and grab his hand without thinking.

"What's wrong, Em? Is this a bad time? Should I…do you want me to leave?" I say this even as I squeeze his hand more tightly.

He turns to look over his shoulder into the trailer and then angles back toward me. The conflict on his face is easy to read, but he makes up his mind rather quickly. He tugs me forward.

"You can come in."

I poke my head inside, and then my body follows. I suck in a breath as I look around.

The division of rooms isn't like the other members' trailers, and Em's looks nothing like a living space. In fact, other than a door to a partitioned area at the end of the unit and walls lined with acoustic foam, it's the unadorned inside of a shipping container.

It's what the trailer holds that made me gasp. One half of the space is dedicated to an impressive array of expensive-looking gym equipment. The other side holds instruments on stands and music equipment. There's a full-sized keyboard, a large drum set, several guitars, and a variety of other instruments: trumpet, sax, flute, clarinet, trombone. A large mixing board serves as a focal point to the room and a tangle of wires run from it to various microphones and electronic devices.

"Wow," I breathe. "It's like a professional studio in here. Do you actually live…?" I trail off when I notice several open suitcases containing clothes and a queen-sized mattress lying on the floor beside the mixer.

"I've never seen the band practice in here. Is this where they record?"

He shakes his head self-consciously. "No, it's mine."

"All of it? So you're, what…a one-man band? Or you mix songs?" I say slowly, trying to make this new information fit into my perception of Em. I notice a spiral bound notebook of manuscript paper and several loose sheets beside an acoustic guitar lying on the mattress. "You compose."

"Well, I—"

Something clicks in my brain. "Holy shit!" I gasp, cutting him off. "Em…spelled with an 'e'…_E. Cullen_. It's _you_ who's written the band's songs!"

Pure terror takes over his entire body. He takes a staggering step backward, and I'm pulled along with him. I don't think he even realizes he's still clutching my hand.

"I'm not…I mean…you can't…"

I'm able to lead him over to a battered couch and pry my fingers from his grip so I can guide him into a sitting position.

"It's okay, Em. I'm not going to say anything to anyone. I promise."

He doesn't respond, and I'm not entirely sure he heard what I said. His eyes are darting back and forth around the trailer as if he's searching for a source of help…or an escape route.

"Hey, look here, Em. It's okay." He still seems locked inside his head, so I lay my hands along his jaw and gently turn his face toward mine. "Please look at me."

After several long seconds, his clouded eyes focus on mine. "No one can know. I can't…it would be too much…all the people…"

I bring my hands back down to wrap around his again. "I would never. I realize we don't know each other that well, but I promise you can trust me." I try to convey the sincerity of my promise with my voice, eyes, and touch.

Moments stretch into minutes as I watch him struggle to regain control of himself. Slowly, like a heavy curtain being drawn back, the tension eases from his face.

I try to keep my own expression calm and supportive, but my already jumbled thoughts are now a mess of confetti in the winds of a hurricane. There are so many questions I want to ask—to demand—but first I have to voice one truth.

"Em, your songs, they're incredible. They mean so much to so many people…to me…and I have to say thank you. For all the hundreds of thousands whose souls you've touched...thank you."

Embarrassed at my heartfelt praise, he angles his head away from me, but also drops his chin and blinks in a gesture of acknowledgement. A long, quaking breath escapes from between his lips.

I can tell the worst has passed. Releasing his hands, I sag against the worn fabric of the couch. Both my body and mind are exhausted. So many revelations in just over an hour. It's nerve-wracking, to say the least.

Neither of us speaks for several minutes, and I can't tell what's going on behind those deep eyes of his.

"What are you thinking?" I finally ask.

He gives me a puzzled look as if it's an odd question, or maybe one he's never heard before. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but he doesn't say anything.

I shift forward in my seat. "You know what, it's pretty late. I think I'm going to head back now. I've done enough damage here for one day." My attempt at a lame joke falls completely flat.

In silence, he watches me get up and walk to the door. I put my hand on the knob, but before turning it, I give him a concerned look.

"Are you gonna be okay tonight—do you need anything? I mean, you're not in shock, right?"

He shakes his head. "I was wondering if…you liked it." The words are so quiet, hesitant.

"I'm sorry—liked what?"

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "You asked me what I was thinking about," he says in a stronger voice. "I had been wondering if you liked the song you overheard. So…did you?"

My hand falls off the door knob as I shift my body to face him. "Em, it's absolutely beautiful. Perfectly, achingly beautiful. I don't just like it, I _love_ it…because that's exactly what it captures and projects. The feeling of love."

"Thank you," he whispers, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I don't suppose…uh, could you play it for me?"

I can't understand why I'm suddenly struck by a bout of shyness. That doesn't usually happen. Maybe it's because I realize how much I'm asking of him. I hold my breath in anticipation.

At his solemn nod, I sigh happily. He rises from the couch and moves to sit cross-legged on his mattress, picking up his guitar in the process.

"Do you mind if I…?" I gesture to the couch.

He nods again and strums a chord.

"I'm still working on it, but here's what I have so far."

I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, close my eyes, and drown in his music. It affects me even more as I hear the complex subtlety that had been muted earlier by the acoustic foam and the walls of the trailer. When he transitions into the bridge, I tighten a fist over my heart. Damn, it's so good that my chest feels tight.

He repeats the chorus a few times and fades out. Savoring the reverberation in my body, I don't move a muscle for several moments after the last note disappears from the air. When I finally do open my eyes, Em is staring at me. There's a nervous look on his face as if he's worried that I might change my opinion about the song.

I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of the idea. How can he doubt the greatness of his music—his own genius? The millions of albums sold attest to that.

I smile at him. "It's everything I said before and then some. I'm sure it'll debut at number one as a single. Do you have lyrics yet? I'd love to read them…or hear them."

"I have the first verse and the chorus, the rest isn't written yet. Doesn't matter, though. This song won't be released to the public."

"Oh." My initial reaction is mixed. It's almost a tragedy that others won't experience this incredible piece of music, but part of me—the selfish part—feels honored that I've been granted the privilege. "Does it have a title?"

"Yes."

I wait expectantly, but he doesn't continue.

"And the title is…?"

"Personal—not for anyone to know but me." His expression is apologetic.

"Oh," I say again, at a loss for a reply. There's an awkward silence, and I wonder if I should go. I don't want to.

"Do you want something to drink?" Em asks suddenly.

An excuse to linger—perfect. I don't ask myself why I want to.

"Sure. What do you have?"

He goes to the end wall of the room and passed through the door that's hidden in the foam. I hear a refrigerator being opened and the sound of items being moved around.

"Water, milk, iced tea, and beer," he calls back to me.

"Whatever beer you've got is fine."

He brings out two bottles of Yuengling lager and sits down beside me on the couch.

"I never pictured you as a beer drinker," I comment.

He shrugs self-deprecatingly and twists off the two tops before handing me a bottle. "I like the taste. It, um, loosens me up."

I chuckle at the idea. "I'd pay to see that. Have you ever been drunk?"

The grimace on his face makes me laugh harder.

"More often than I'd like to admit. It's not easy having a social anxiety disorder, you know."

Did he just make fun of himself? I'm afraid to call it wrong, but then the corners of his lips turn up in a smile. He seems more open than usual, so I take a chance.

"I don't want to ruin the mood, but I've got so many questions. Do you mind if I ask some? I won't be offended if you say no."

He takes a large gulp of his beer. "I can't promise that I'll answer them all, but I'll try."

"That's more than enough for me. So to start, does the rest of the band know that you write the songs?"

"Jasper, Jake, and Seth know. After Anthony, Jasper and Alice are the ones I feel most comfortable with. Jake is the unofficial leader of the band, and I thought it was important he know the truth. He's a loyal person and would never betray someone's confidence. Seth figured it out almost immediately after he met Anthony at the audition for a new keyboardist."

"Why not Tyler and Laurent?"

"I don't trust them to keep the secret. Tyler wouldn't let it slip on purpose, but he's not known for his discretion, especially when he drinks or smokes up. Laurent would sell the story to the highest bidder at the first opportunity."

"Irina?"

He nods. "She knows."

"Doesn't it bother you that Anthony gets all the credit?"

"No. In fact, he refused at first. Back when he, Jasper, and Jake just had a garage band, I had to beg him to play my songs so I could hear what they sounded like. That was before all of this, of course." He gestures to equipment around him.

"Anthony started using the songs during gigs, and at first, he wouldn't reveal the writer's name. But when the band gained popularity, venues requested the information. Again, he wanted to have me named as the songwriter. It took a lot of pleading on my part, but he eventually agreed to let people assume that he was the E. Cullen listed on the track."

"Wow." I shake my head at the massive deception. "I'll be honest. It's hard to imagine him fighting against it like you described when he seems so…so…"

"Cocky? Smooth? A natural in the limelight?" Em chuckles. "He's all those things, but he's also a very good actor. He knows how to play people."

"I see."

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Not that he's doing that to _you_," Em's quick to point out when he notices my worried expression. "He really does…like you a lot. I've never seen him this way with anyone else."

I'm only partially listening to him at this point. The shock of Em's big secret had all but driven away my earlier conundrum regarding Anthony. Now it's front and center in my head again.

"What am I going to do about him…about us? I have no idea how this is supposed to work." I murmur to myself before finishing off my beer in one long pull. "Got any more of these?"

Em takes my empty bottle and returns with two new ones. When he hands mine over, I clink it against his.

"Cheers," I mutter despondently.

We drink in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts. I reach the bottom of my bottle, and almost instantly, there's another in my hand. Enjoying the beginnings of a pleasant buzz, I'm grateful for Em's attentiveness, but I'm also me and therefore required to give him a little crap.

"Why, sir, do you have some sort of devious plan to get me drunk?" I ask with wide, innocent eyes.

As expected, he appears both stunned and embarrassed. "No, of course not!" But then he gives me a coy sideways glance. "Why? Is it working?"

"Em!" I gasp in tickled astonishment. "You're just full of surprises tonight. Who would have thought you were such a cad?" I smirk. "And yes, I'd say it's working very well."

Turns out he's quite the chatterbox when he gets four or five beers in him. We hit on a variety of topics ranging from personal background information to favorite books to the most overrated jazz musician of his or her time. He shares his anguish over the death of his parents, and I tell him how glad I am to not have heard from my dad since he left mom and me. We laugh about the pranks Anthony pulled in high school, and Em puts a comforting hand on my arm when I admit my difficulty in trusting people, especially men.

I get so surprised any time he initiates contact, and my startled reaction on this occasion makes him pull away quickly.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"No, don't be. It was just a little unexpected. From you, that is. But in a good way. I like it when you touch me."

What sort of craziness is coming out of my mouth? I inhale quickly and try again.

"What I mean is that I'm used to you avoiding things like physical touch and eye contact with anyone. It's nice to see you more relaxed. Maybe we should get you liquored up and take you out one night."

"I think the amount of alcohol required for that would put me in a coma," he jokes.

"You seem to be doing fine with me."

"You're not the same as most other people I meet. They either tend to ignore me, or act as if I'm mentally challenged, or try to mother me like a child. But you…somehow, you always know what I need."

There's a measure of passion behind his words, but I attribute it to the beer and the late hour. Or would it be considered early? What time is it anyway? There are no windows in the trailer to judge the darkness outside.

"Shit! It's almost four!" I exclaim after checking my phone. No missed texts. "I wonder if Anthony's back yet."

"Yeah, I should probably get some sleep before set list rehearsal," he says, staring at the empty bottle in his hand. "Though you could skip it if you wanted."

"No way. They're almost better than the actual concert. Everyone jokes around, and the atmosphere is so light and easy. Plus, I get to hear what goes on behind the scenes. Wait a minute…" I look at Em and see him in a whole new light. "Would you mind if I sat with you today? Maybe hear about the songs from _your_ perspective?

I'm almost bouncing up and down in excitement. It now makes sense why Anthony was reluctant to give me insight into the songwriter's mind—he wasn't able to speak for that person. But now I know who can.

"Well, I guess…"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal, throwing my arms around him and squeezing tightly before I realize what I'm doing. I'm about to jerk away when I feel his chest rumble from laughter.

"What's so funny?" I ask, my chin over his shoulder.

He pats me awkwardly on the back. "Nothing important."

I can hear the smile in his voice. I sit back to give him a pout.

"Come on, Em. You can't just laugh at me and not fess up what it's about."

He just shakes his head, his lips curved upward in an enigmatic fashion. "Don't be so conceited. Maybe I wasn't laughing you."

"You ass-tard!" I giggle as I swat him on the arm.

"Yup, but don't worry. After I sleep off my alcohol-induced ass-tardedness, I'll be back to my uninteresting self."

"Whatever," I protest. "Anyone who can write music like you do will never be uninteresting."

If his face wasn't already flushed from the alcohol, I'm pretty sure he'd be blushing.

"Okay, well…you should probably get some rest if you plan to pay attention to my exclusive commentary."

I nod and struggle to my feet, finally noticing how I tired I am. Em and I clean up our mess—we had raided his snack stash a few times—and he walks me the short distance to Anthony's trailer. I fish for the door key in my clutch and then give him a quick hug goodbye.

Sleep is beginning to drag me under when I feel the mattress dip beside me. Familiar arms pull me into their embrace and a bare leg tangles with mine. My last conscious thought is that, with the discovery of the band's true songwriter, I know Anthony even less than I previously believed.

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><p><strong>I know some readers had already realized that Em was the songwriter—props to you! I'm terrible at figuring out stuff like that, lol. <strong>

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><p><strong>Have I mentioned how awesome you all are? 'Tis true, and thanks to those who leave feedback. I LOVE reading your thoughts; they always inspire me to procrastinate RL and write instead. :)<strong>

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><p><strong>Special thanks to MariahajilE and PFK_FF who tweet out my updates literally seconds after I publish them! Also, hugs to nicffwhisperer for pimping this story and to anyone else who's spreadin' the love. THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**From here on out, the chapters are not beta'd, and all mistakes are mine. Final thanks to DayDreamDreamer for her incredible help with the initial donation piece! ooxx**

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><p>Chapter 10<p>

I wake up to a teasingly slow tugging sensation on my breast and a wet mess between my legs.

"Oh god," I breathe, blinking my eyes and seeing a disheveled head of hair hovering over my chest.

He pauses. "No. Just someone who's sorry he was a selfish prick last night."

"You're forgiven." I grab two handfuls of the wild mane and lower his head back into place. Obligingly, he swirls his tongue around my nipple and sucks it into his mouth.

"Good morning to me." My voice is a cross between a raspy croak and a purr.

He chuckles around my sensitive flesh. The vibrations are almost too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck.._.Anthony_..."

"That's the idea," he says, lifting his head to give my other breast some much needed attention.

"Mm, this is a nice surprise. I thought you'd be blitzed after drinking at the poker tables all night."

The falter in his rhythm is very slight, but I notice.

"What? Was there a change in plans?"

He moves back to lie on his side and lets out an annoyed sigh.

"Yeah, there were definitely some changes. It pisses me off."

I wait for him to continue, but he's quiet, his index finger drawing absent-minded circles around my navel. It looks like he's trying to figure out what to tell me.**  
><strong>

"We—the band, that is—had wanted a longer tour, do more shows. Some of our venues were sold out within ten minutes of general ticket release. But the hitch was Jasper. He wouldn't get on board. About a month ago, he finally said he'd be okay with adding a few show on at the end. Irina started working to make it happen, and everything came together last night."

"Hey, babe, that's great!"

He frowns deeply and makes a deep sound, almost a growl. "We were supposed to end the tour in Boston with one show, and now there's a second scheduled. Then we'll go home to New York and finish up with a two-night gig at Madison Square Garden. Tickets go on sale tomorrow."

"Damn, I can't believe you're just adding shows on like that, with only two weeks left. That's got to be a major undertaking."

"Yeah," he snorts. "I mean, it's not a lot extra for the band—me and Jake'll have to put three more set lists together, but that shouldn't be too bad. It'll suck ass for the crew, though. Irina got us and the core staff together, about an hour after you left, to break the news. I thought Jeff and Sadie were going to shit themselves that it's going down so late in game. Sadie's got it worst, trying to figure out all the logistics. Yeah, they'd already done up plans in case, but now they've got to make it happen, you know? I just...feel bad for them, and I..._fuck_. I'm really pissed at Jasper for doing...what he did."

Anthony's really frustrated and getting worked up.

"Aw, babe..." I move closer and coax him to lie on his back so that his head rests against my side, just under my arm. As I rub my hand over his bare chest, I press kisses into his hair.

"Yeah," he continues, "I know it's hard on him with his kid and all, but shit, me and the guys were there first, you know? Especially him and Jake, we're almost like..._fuck!"_

He rolls away from me to stand up from the bed. His face holds a mixture of anger, disappointment, and...fear?

"Anthony?" I sit up, concerned.

He shakes his head. "I gotta get ready."

At rehearsal, reactions from the rest of the guys are mixed. Jasper's acting poised as usual, but I've seen him enough to know that he's not happy about something. I wonder if he's feeling guilty or is catching a lot of shit from everyone else for having held out. Maybe both?

Jake and Tyler seem unaffected by the changes. Drum sticks waving in the air, Jake discusses the set list with Anthony, who looks sinfully gorgeous despite minimal sleep. Tyler is messing around with a hacky sack, and Laurent wears dark shades as he dozes in his chair. Rosalie hasn't made an appearance, though she rarely comes to rehearsals anymore.

I sit by myself in the front row and am reading on my phone when large hands cover my eyes. I sigh.

"Hi, Seth," I intone in a bored voice.

"You always know it's me," he complains, taking a seat beside me and draping a heavy arm over my shoulders.

"That's because you're the only one who does it. It's not hard to guess."

"Are you excited to be stuck with me for an extra week? I mean, you're staying, right?"

"Actually, I'm not sure," I tell him. "Anthony and I slept in late and hardly got a chance to talk before rehearsal. He and Jake have been busy discussing the MSG show. I hear you guys want to make a big deal out of it?"

He nods. "When Boston was our last stop, it didn't matter as much. But in New York, our own city…well, we want to end things right."

"And by 'end,' you mean the tour, of course." I can tell there's something he's not saying, and I have a bad feeling about it.

"Uh, well…" He cringes and gives me a wary look.

My heart plunges in my chest. "Seth, you're scaring me. Please don't say what I'm worried you're going to say. Tell me the rumors aren't true."

The expression on his face confirms my fear. He leans in close to me.

"Look, don't say anything to anyone, not even Anthony unless he tells you himself. We signed an NDA, and I'd really hate to get busted. Anyway, Jasper said last night that he's quitting for sure. That's why Irina was scrambling to make the extra shows happen. I think they're making the public announcement just before tickets are released."

"Holy shitballs," I murmur in a daze.

"Yeah, I know. It kinda blew us all away. Anthony was beyond pissed that Jasper sprung it on us at the last minute like that, but I guess when you're done, you're done."

"Damn, I should have been with him last night." I feel terrible that I wasn't there to give him whatever support I could.

"If it makes you feel any better, I heard he was having a pretty decent time emptying out Laurent and the rest of his tablemates before the call came," Seth chuckles.

"That's something, I guess," I say distractedly. My eyes are focused on Anthony. There's a tightness around his eyes that I hadn't noticed earlier.

Seth pokes me in the shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. It sucks to lose Jazz, but we'll find another bassist and make music like always. Keep the faith, sistah." He stands up to take his place on stage.

"Alright, fuckers, let's get started," Anthony announces, an edge to his voice. "We'll open with an extended drum solo…"

He's talking through the song lineup when Em sits down in the seat that Seth had vacated.

"Hey, Bella," he says with a smile, his greeting the most confident I've heard from him yet.

"'Morning, Em. I'm surprised I beat you here. Had a hard time waking up?"

"No, but that's because I haven't slept yet."

I turn and lean sideways to fully take in his appearance. While there are dusky shadows under his eyes, he seems to be doing pretty well for having stayed up after a night of drinking. In fact, there's almost a radiance in his expression.

"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. I would think that under the circumstances with the band…" I trail off, realizing I almost broke Seth's confidence.

Em gets it, though. "You mean because of Jasper? Yeah, it sucks for the rest of us, but I support his decision. He's following his heart and doing what's right for his family—how can I fault that?"

I nod reluctantly. "I know. It's just a bitter pill to swallow."

"You're full of idioms this morning," he teases.

"And you're strangely full of yourself. Did Ed McMahon visit your trailer or something?"

Chuckling, he shakes his head. "Even better. I finished the song I was working on."

"Really?" I squeeze his hand in congratulations. "That's great! So…will you tell me the name now?"

"No," he answers easily, "but maybe someday. We'll see."

A sequence of loud rim shots diverts our attention to the stage. Jake improvs a few bars of his solo and the band transitions into tonight's opening number, "If I Could."

I turn to Em, who is listening intently. The nuances of interplay between music and words are manifested in the emotion on his face. It's beautiful to watch.

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask quietly.

He doesn't answer or even act as if he heard me. I'm about to repeat my question when he closes his eyes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"There's such a depth of feeling in your songs. Even when I thought Anthony was the composer, I couldn't see how someone so young could _know _so much. Then to find out about you…"

I shake my head in disbelief and continue. "Your music, your words, they suggest you've had the experiences of several lifetimes—like you've wanted love, gotten it, lost it, cherished it, threw it away—_everything._ The same goes for emotions...hope, happiness, grief, anger…lust. Then there's the commentary on society, your longing for simpler times, and even the burning hatred of the conflict inside you." I tick them off on my fingers to accentuate my point.

"God, Em, there's just so _much_. It was always a stretch for me to believe that anyone could infuse such raw passion into their work without having felt it themselves. But you…you're my age, and with your social anxiety…I mean…how could you know about relationships—about love…"

Those last faltering words sting my lips, and I want to snatch them back. In my selfish desire to discover the inspiration behind the music, I ignore tact and insult a man who hides his identity to avoid nosy-ass people like me.

I lower my head in shame. "I'm sorry. That was so rude and insensitive and just shitty of me. Fuck."

"It's a valid question, though," he says, his voice gentle. "Maybe the years of being isolated from 'normal' social interaction have strengthened my imagination. Or maybe they intensified feelings that were already there. Possibly, by looking so far inward, I was able to see outside myself. In any case, I'm lucky that my expressions of the different facets of...of...who I am...resonate with so many."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," I murmur, awed by his insight and humility. "It's not even simple talent. It's just…_you_. You're an amazing person, Em."

"Bella," he breathes, his eyes bright. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much that means to me. I wish that I could—"

His words are cut off by the echoing crash of a microphone ricocheting off the floor.

"What the fuck, Ty?" Anthony yells. "How many times do I have to tell you that I changed that measure? The leading note never resolves. The chord is implied but not played."

"That sounds like utter shit," Tyler argues. "I don't get why you're trying to fix something that wasn't broken. It was fine how it was…the way we've done it hundreds of times before."

"Well, now we're doing it _this_ way. Everyone else has got it down. What's your problem? Can't handle the late nights? Maybe if you spent more time concentrating on the band and less time fucking everything with a pulse…"

"That's rich coming from you," Tyler retorts. "I'm not the one who couldn't stop bragging about banging four chicks in one night. Fucking hypocrite. Literally."

Anthony shoots me a pained look and then turns his rage back onto the saxophonist. "What I do in my free time has never affected my performance in front of an audience. Can you say the same? Remember Toronto? Philly?" His hands are clenched into fists.

"Knock it off, guys," Jake interjects with authority. "We're wasting time on stupid shit. Tyler, are you going to play it right, or do you need to sit out of that section?"

"It was 'right' until a few days ago when Anthony the Great decided to change shit for no reason," Tyler mutters.

Anthony storms over to Ty's seat and gets in his face. "I don't need a goddamned reason! I can do whatever the fuck I want with _my_ music. If you don't like it, you can—"

I don't see Jasper's approach, but he somehow appears between Anthony and Tyler, who is starting to rise to his feet.

"Let's calm down, alright? I know a lot of the tension has to do with me, and again, I'm sorry about my shitty timing. How about we all relax and get some coffee or something? My treat."

Tyler snorts. "The coffee's free, fucker."

"Is it?" Jasper says innocently.

"Everybody, take ten," Jake calls out as Jasper puts a hand on Anthony's shoulder and guides him away from Tyler.

"Damn," Em says under his breath. His expression is pained.

"What?" I ask.

"Anthony shouldn't have to defend the modifications for me. It's not fair to him."

"I think he can handle it. You shouldn't beat yourself up over Tyler's bullshit. Besides, Jasper's probably right. Anthony's upset over unrelated issues."

"Still…"

"Hey, you two. This is a nice surprise." Anthony is walking down the steps leading from the stage. He points a finger and moves it back and forth between Em and me, a questioning expression on his face.

I glance at Em and tilt my head, indicating that I'll let him decide what to tell his brother.

"Bella heard me playing in my trailer last night. I, um, invited her in, and when she saw the setup, she figured…_it_ out." He gives his brother a significant look.

Anthony's head snaps toward me in surprise. He stares for a moment and then returns his gaze to Em. "Wow. That's kind of huge. Are you okay?"

"Yes." The words are spoken with confidence.

Anthony nods. Hunching down in front of me, he takes my hands in his. "Babe, I'm sure I don't have to tell you what a nightmare it would be for us if the public finds out. I hate to even ask, but would you sign a nondisclosure agreement? Irina had us all do it, even me."

"Of course," I agree without hesitation.

"That's not necessary," Em insists. "Bella's not a risk, and I'd prefer if Irina didn't find out. You know how nervous she makes me. I don't want to deal with her about this."

Anthony raises his eyebrow but nods. "If you're sure, Em."

"I am."

Standing up quickly and pulling me to my feet, Anthony draws me in for a deep kiss that leaves me breathless. When he finally releases my mouth, I need a moment to gather my wits.

"Every time I think you can't get any more perfect, you surprise me again," he hums in my ear. "You must be some kind of magical being to have cast your spell over my brother, too."

My eyes dart to Em, who's now hunched over in his seat and making an obvious effort to avoid taking in our display of affection. I hate seeing him uncomfortable and move a step back from Anthony.

"Everything okay?" he asks me.

"Yeah, it's just…" I shake my head and attempt to redirect his attention. "More importantly, what about you? You didn't get much sleep, and with Tyler being a shitbag just now—are you holding up okay?"

"I'll be fine, babe, but thanks for looking out for me." He drops a kiss on the top of my head. "I need to get back up there. We'll grab lunch after this, and I'll fill you in on everything that's going down."

When rehearsal starts again, Tyler is grudgingly contrite. He apologizes to Anthony and the rest of the band for his tantrum. The run-though proceeds smoothly after that. True to his word, Em offers up a few insights as the group plays a couple dozen measures of each song on the set list. He seems much more subdued than when he arrived but denies that anything is wrong. I don't buy it for a second.

Anthony wants to take me to a nearby café after rehearsal. We ask Em to come along, but he declines. Before leaving, however, he pulls his brother aside and they talk for a few minutes. Anthony glances at me several times during their conversation, his brow deeply furrowed.

"So, what do you think about my big secret?" Anthony asks in between bites of his Reuben sandwich. He's trying to sound casual, but I can tell it's forced.

"It was a shock," I admit. My own turkey wrap sits largely untouched in front of me. Between Em's unexplained change in demeanor and Anthony's distress over Jasper's departure, which he'd just finished telling me about, I don't have much of an appetite.

Anthony nods. "You know how incredible Em's music is. I've always agreed with him that it should be available to the public, but he wouldn't put it out there himself. He's too damned afraid of rejection."

I frown. "Do you think that's what it is? He mentioned his social anxiety…"

"That's a convenient excuse," Anthony mutters. "If he'd taken credit in the beginning, it wouldn't have been a big deal. I mean, how many people pay attention to who actually writes the songs that popular bands perform? Maybe he'd be wanted for a couple interviews here and there, but that's not a big deal."

"Maybe it is to him."

Anthony gives me an apprehensive look. "You stick up for him a lot, but that only makes things worse. Look, I love my brother, and other than my aunt, he's the only family I've got left. But Em's never going to get over his issues if people baby him. Jasper, Alice, Jake, Seth…they all handle him with kid gloves. It just feeds his dependence. He needs to be pushed instead of coddled."

I take a few seconds to gather my thoughts before speaking. "Obviously, you've known him longer than anyone, and it's not my place to judge. But, I don't know if his 'issues' are something he can just 'get over.'" I barely refrain from using air quotes. "My mom's still messed up from what my dad did. Even therapy and medication can only help so much. I think some life experiences can leave a lasting mark, and with what happened to your parents…well…"

Pushing his plate away, Anthony fixes me with an angry glare. "A person can't wallow in self-pity forever, Bella. Life doesn't give a fuck about what happened in the past. He's got to stop being such a pussy and move on. Do you think it hurt me any less when they died? I cried myself to sleep for months and kept hoping that when I woke up, I'd find out it was all some sick nightmare. Sometimes, I even wished I'd died in the fire, too!"

His voice is getting louder, and his chest is heaving. He glances around, then takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"But I realized that shit happens, you deal, and you make the most of what you've got."

My lips press together so that I don't say anything I might regret. His story is tragic, and I have no right to criticize the way he chooses to cope. I can't even imagine what it must be like to live with his sort of grief. It's starting to make more sense why he shies away from revealing any deeper feelings, but I worry what will happen if he—and Em—don't seek the support they seem to need.

Anthony is about to say something else when a fan approaches. He manages a weak smile for the photo and fidgets with his napkin as soon as she leaves. I can tell he wants to go, so I collect our trash.

Even though the Las Vegas heat is stifling, Anthony pulls his beanie down low over his forehead and dons sunglasses. He hails a cab but only puts his head inside instead of taking a seat beside me.

"Babe, I need some time alone right now. You can head back to the buses or go shopping with my card or whatever." He tosses it on my lap. "I'm gonna take a walk."

Stunned, I stare at him as he shuts the door and starts down the sidewalk, his head lowered and hands shoved into his pockets.

The cabbie waits for directions, and I mumble out the address to the caravan site.

"Uh, Miss, was that Anthony Cullen?" the driver asks after several minutes of silence.

"Yeah." I don't bother lifting my head from the seat rest or opening my eyes.

He chuckles. "My wife has a thing for him. Don't matter that she's damn near 60 years old. Crazy woman has his picture on her computer and plays his music all the time."

_His_ music. Not really.

"You his girl?"

I have no desire to keep this conversation up, but I'm not about to piss off my ride.

"Uhh..." Anthony hadn't given me any guidelines on discussing our relationship with others, though he certainly didn't shy away from PDA.

"Chin up, Miss. In thirty-five years, me and the wife've had more spats than I can count. You gotta talk it out and remember what's important. If the love's there, you can get through just about anything."

He keeps quiet for the rest of the ride, but the damage is done. His words echo in my mind.

_If the love's there_…

I'm so out of my element.

**—_O_ SHM _O_—**

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><p><strong>omg, I am LOVING everyone's thoughtful feedback! Also, remember that I'm only a PM away...<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**It's a sickness...can't. stop. updating.**

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><p>Chapter 11<p>

After the cab ride, I enter the trailer and flop down on the bed. I know I'm due for a major soul-searching/gray matter-gutting session, but my head's starting to ache. I'd rather just take a nap.

So I do.

A ringing sound wakes me up from a deep, dreamless sleep. By the time I'm able to claw my way out of the unconscious hole I'm in, the phone is silent. I blink rapidly and try to figure out where the damn thing is, but it's hard to see in the fading light of day.

Shit.

I scramble off the bed and dig through my bag that I'd dropped on the floor earlier. My entire head feels like it's in a vice except for one spot behind my left eye. That part is experiencing sensations akin to angry stabs with a red-hot fireplace poker. When I finally manage to locate my phone, I discover that it's almost 8 p.m. The concert was scheduled to start an hour ago.

Fuck.

I scroll through the several texts that are waiting for me.

**_Anthony, 3:34 p.m. Sorry about earlier, Babe. It was shitty to ditch you, I just needed some time alone. Hope you understand. It's too late to come back now, going straight to dressing room. See you soon. xx_**

**_Anthony, 5:17 p.m. Thought you'd be here by now. You're pissed at me, aren't you?_**

**_Anthony, 6:52 p.m. Fuck, Babe. I'm really sorry. I can't stand you being mad at me. Tell me how to make it up to you. Anything you want, I'll do it. Please. XX_**

**_Rose, 6:55 p.m. where r u? evry1 is looking 4 u. _**

**_Em, 7:08 p.m. Is everything okay? Please let one of us know you are safe._**

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There are also four missed calls—one from Anthony, one from Rosalie, and two from Em. I figure a reply would have the best chance of reaching Em first and am in the middle of typing when there's a pounding at the door. I run to it, stubbing my toe and banging my shin in the process.

"Ow, ow, ow…oh!" I fling open the door to find a very harried-looking Em.

"Bella!" he gasps, "Are you okay?"

I sigh as I reach down to rub my throbbing leg. "Yeah, I'm fine. I fell asleep and didn't hear my phone until just now. Sorry to raise the alarm over nothing."

His shoulders relax as the tension bleeds out of him. "Don't worry about it. Everyone will be happy to know the truth. I was…I mean, _we_ were worried something had happened. When you didn't text back or answer your phone, Anthony had one of the crew guys knock on your door about an hour ago."

I rub a hand over my eyes, partially in embarrassment and partially in a futile effort to ease my headache. "I guess I was out pretty hard. I hate that you had to come all the way back here to check on my sorry ass."

His eyes dart lower for a moment, as if he could see said body part through the front of me.

"It wasn't a big deal," he says, his gaze steady on my face again. "In fact, you probably did me a favor. The band sounded off tonight. I felt like throwing something at Tyler. He either forgot the changes they rehearsed or did it the old way on purpose."

"That sucks," I tell him sympathetically. "I loved the added dissonance and instability."

A feverish light comes to life in his eyes. "Exactly! That's what was missing the first time, but I didn't get it back then. I thought I understood, but I really had no idea. I didn't know—I _couldn't_ know what it was like…to feel…Bella, are you _sure _you're okay?"

I hadn't realized my face was twisted into a grimace until he said something. "It's just a headache. Though, it's trying its best to become a migraine."

"Have you taken anything yet?"

"No, I just woke up a few minutes before you knocked. I'll be downing some Excedrin as soon as I text Anthony."

"Hmm. Go ahead and text him now. I'll get some stuff for your headache and be right back."

He jumps down all three steps in one leap and sets off at a jog toward his trailer. I stand there staring for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened. Em had sounded so…authoritative. Where had that come from?

I have the tiniest impulse to defy him, just to see how he'd react, but there's no way I'd curb any show of confidence in him. Plus, my head's fucking killing me.

My phone's still in the bedroom, so I sit on the mattress and compose a text to Anthony.

**8:11 p.m. I'm SO sorry I'm missing the concert. I'm NOT mad at you. I fell asleep with a massive headache that's getting worse. Em came to check on me. I hope you don't mind if I take something and crash again. xoxo**

I reply to Rosalie with a simple "**In bed with headache,**" and flop back on the mattress, my fingers on my temples. It's all I can do not to curl up in a ball and whine like a toddler.

The pounding in my head does a good job of muffling sound, and I nearly scream when I feel a warm touch on my forehead. My eyes fly open, and I'm about to jump away until I recognize Em's face hovering over me.

"Holy shit!" I wheeze, my heart racing. "You scared me—mmph." I bite down on my lip to suppress a cry of pain as my headache reaches full migraine status.

I had turned on a bedside lamp upon reentering the room, and Em shuts it off. I whimper in appreciation. I'm so glad we're hooked up to city electricity right now so that I don't have to hear the generator noise.

"Can you sit up to take the Excedrin and drink some tea?"

"Yeah," I grunt and push myself upright with Em's unsolicited assistance. I swallow the pills and take a careful sip of the offered hot liquid in a covered mug. I can taste lemon, honey, and something sort of spicy.

"Is there ginger in this?" I ask.

Em nods as he digs through a plastic container about the size of gallon of milk. "I get nausea with my migraines, and ginger helps. Even if it's not something you experience, ginger's good stuff. Here, have one of these." He unwraps a peppermint candy and gives it to me, then places a handful on the nightstand. "Some people claim to get relief from the smell of peppermint. It can also help with nausea."

"Are you big in to homeopathy or something?"

He chuckles softly. "No, just big into minimizing pain. I'm worse than a baby when I feel sick." Pulling a small bottle out of the container, he gives my neck area a critical onceover. "You'll need to take off your shirt."

"Um, excuse me?"

His face instantly turns crimson as the side of Em I know best shows up in full force. "What I meant was that you'll be a little, uh…slick, and you probably don't want to get your clothes messy…if you want me to do it, that is. I-it always helps me feel better. Of course, it'll be easier to do…you…than myself."

Given the bottle in his hand, I think I know what he means, but as usual, I can't resist being a smart-ass.

"You're going to do me?" I say with huge, innocent eyes.

"Yes…wait, no! I mean…"

I've got to put him out of his misery. "You mean you want to give me a neck massage? I'd love that. Sorry for messing with you, Em. I give Anthony crap about it, but I'm no better. Let me get my robe and a towel out of the bathroom."

"I'll get them," he says and leaves the room.

When he returns, I spread the towel out over the comforter, turn my back to him, and pull off my shirt. I slip my arms out of my bra straps, shrug on the robe, and lie down on my stomach.

Soon, Em's oiled hands are working tension out of my shoulders that I didn't even know was there. He's thoughtful enough to stay low on my neck and away from my still throbbing head. For propriety's sake, I stifle my moans of pleasure, but it isn't easy.

One thing I can't stop myself from doing is comparing Em's massage to Anthony's. There isn't a single bad thing to say about either, and both rank at the top of my all-time favorite massages. Still, there are obvious differences between the two.

Anthony's soft, smooth hands are skilled and consistent; every one of his movements is purposeful and precise. It's easy to tell he's had plenty of practice on others. His goal is to give incredible massages, and he always acomplishes it.

Em, however, seems to be going by instinct. His fingers are slightly rougher, especially on his left hand where he has callouses from guitar strings, but they still feel amazing. He takes his time working across my upper back, as if savoring the feel of my skin. Though I'm trying to keep still and not react, somehow he's able to sense what I find most enjoyable and dedicates his efforts to that.

It isn't until the intense ache in my head subsides that I realize I have another much lower down. I shift my thighs, and—fuck!—there's a fair amount of dampness between my legs. I'm concerned about my reaction and have enough sense to know it's not appropriate. I can't let it go on.

"Thanks, Em," I say hastily, pulling the robe snug against my body as I practically jump out from under his touch. "I feel so much better."

His hands are frozen in midair, and he's wearing a startled expression. I don't blame him. I surprised myself with that one.

"I, um…I'm just going to hop in the shower to clean up. Make yourself at home, and I'll be back in a minute."

He stares at me as I hurry to grab a change of clothes and escape out of the room. When I collapse on the closed toilet lid after locking the door behind me, my stomach is churning. Rushing around like that probably wasn't the brightest idea.

I take a deep breath and start the water, turning it as cool as I can stand. It's uncomfortable, but it's exactly what I need to clear my mind.

First things first, I tell myself it's completely natural to get turned on while receiving a massage, especially such an incredible one. It has nothing to do with the giver. I'm sure I'd feel the same way if a wrinkly old lady was working me over.

Right.

And so what if I _am_ a little attracted to Em? He's pretty good-looking, sweet, and a freaking musical genius. There'd be something to worry about if I didn't find him appealing. As long as I keep everything platonic between us, there's no harm in it.

I do regret taking off my shirt and letting him use the oil. Though I don't think he meant it to be a sensual act—I certainly hadn't seen it that way—we crossed a line. If Anthony gave, say, Rosalie a massage like that, I'd be suspicious and a little pissed.

Fuck. I need to tell Anthony. Even if he couldn't care less, my conscience would eat me up. I _hate_ unfaithful people.

I get out of the shower and grab my phone. It's almost nine—the band should be breaking for intermission soon. As if on cue, I get an incoming message.

**_Anthony, 8:56 p.m. So relieved you're not mad and I don't have to sleep on the couch, haha. Sorry about the headache. xx_**

My massage-induced high now gone, I dress slowly in shorts and a tank. Em is waiting for me in the living area when I leave the bathroom. I'm not surprised to see that his fingers are tapping furiously against his leg. He stands up as soon as he notices me.

"Bella, I'm sorry. I never should have—"

I hold up a hand as I interrupt. "You didn't do anything, Em. You helped a friend fight a nasty headache, and now she feels a hell of a lot better. I'm the one who should apologize. It was rude of me to rush out on you like that, and I'm sorry. The best explanation I can give is that today's been a bit messed up, and my head's not quite working right, in more ways than one."

I take a breath and let it out quickly. "We do need to stay away from that sort of thing in the future. It could be taken the wrong way, and you know how I feel about dishonesty and cheating."

There's plenty of space on the couch where Em's standing, but I choose the armchair to sit on. After my body's involuntary actions a short while ago, it's better to be safe than sorry.

I have no idea where to go from here. It seems like Em's in the same boat.

"Did you know that Seth's parents wanted him to play football?" I blurt out, completely at random.

"Uh, really?" Em glances around as if he expects to see the missing part of the conversation lying in a corner somewhere.

"Really. They were hoping he'd fill out his tall frame and be a running back—why don't you have a seat, too?—but he couldn't catch a ball to save his life on the Peewee team. They tried soccer next, but had to bribe him to practice his drills by letting him take piano lessons. His dad was so bummed when the teacher told him that his child was gifted."

Em, who was once again sitting on the couch, began to chuckle. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah. Seth's a great kid. I'm gonna miss you guys once this is over. It's been like something out of a dream," I say wistfully.

"What do you mean? I thought you were staying with Anthony." There's a strange edge to his voice. Is it panic?

"I don't know, Em. This whole thing is crazy. I'm just a regular person who doesn't belong in you guys' world of screaming fans and exclusive clubs."

"It's not _my_ world," he mutters.

"You know what I mean. Sure, I like fun and adventure, but I'm also looking forward to starting a career, putting away money to buy a house, maybe get married and have a dog or something. I'll have to get back to you about kids, though," I laugh.

Em's serious expression never changes. "You don't see that happening with him?"

Wow, talk about putting me on the spot. It's been the burning question on my mind for a while, yet it's also the one I've avoided thinking about the most. I decide to evade by turning it back on him.

"You know Anthony better than I do. Can you see him happy with someone who isn't going to follow him on the road and party with him every other night? Someone with her own career and her own circle of friends?"

"Honestly?" He raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I can. Anthony's pretty easy to please and is great at making the best of any situation. But those aren't the questions you should be asking."

I'm annoyed at how easily he's getting to the heart of the matter and making me face the big issues.

"Why don't you enlighten me, then," I grumble like a spoiled child.

"Sure, if you'd rather hear it from me," he shrugs. "You need to decide if you'll be satisfied having a partner who has an inconsistent schedule, may be gone for several months at a time, and is always in the spotlight. There will be many times when you'll be under the microscope, too, and if you do ever have kids, they may have to deal with the same sort of thing. On a positive note, though, you won't have to save for a house, and he already has a dog."

I almost laugh until I realize he's not joking. "Oh god, I sincerely hope you don't think that money's a factor in my feelings for him. Neither is his status. The more I learn about what it's like to be famous, the more I think the negatives outweigh the positives." I have to clear my throat to loosen the tightness there. I hope Em doesn't actually think I'm that shallow.

"Just what _are_ you feelings for him?" He leans toward me, his eyes dark and piercing.

I almost cringe away from his intensity but force myself to meet his gaze. There's an insistent part of me that wants to tell him it's none of his fucking business. Instead, I give an honest answer that's also a copout.

"I don't…I'm not sure."

He makes a sound low in his throat and frowns as if upset. That's understandable. I basically admitted that I'm screwing around with his brother's emotions. Great. Now he'll think I'm a gold digger _and_ a tease.

"Is your headache still bothering you?" Em asks, his expression suddenly neutral.

It takes a moment for me to switch mental gears.

"It's there, but compared to before, I hardly notice it."

"Do you want to watch a movie or something?" He says it in a very off-hand manner, as if he doesn't care what my answer is.

"You're not going back to the arena?"

"No."

"Ah. Well...okay then. How about you turn on the TV? I'm going to grab some food. Want anything?"

A few minutes later, I return from the kitchen to find "Happy Gilmore" on the screen. Em is elated.

"Can you believe our luck? This is classic!" he says with a bright smile. It's as if the past hour never happened.

"Yeah," I agree carefully, not quite sure how things are between us at the moment. I set his soda and chips on the coffee table in front of him.

"That chair doesn't have a very good view of the TV. Come sit over here." He flashes an alluring crooked grin that looks very much like his brother's.

It's a little disconcerting. I give him a guarded look, which causes him to laugh.

"You know I'm harmless, Bella. Have a seat." Now he's full-out smirking.

If it were any other person on any other night, I'd be jumping on that comment and making all sorts of sexual innuendos. But after everything that happened today with both him and Anthony, all I can do is nod and sit on the couch with him—at the opposite end.

It takes me a few minutes to get into the movie because my thoughts are so scrambled. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at Em with his body slouched against the cushions and his feet up on the coffee table. He looks so relaxed and at ease with himself—a shocking contrast to the way he acts in public.

Adam Sandler is able to draw me into his comedy, however, and soon I'm quoting lines along with Em. We both shout gleefully "the price is wrong, bitch!" when Bob Barker nails Happy in the face.

The movie is just finishing when I get another text.

**_11:16 p.m. Didn't want to call in case you're sleeping. If awake, want me to pick anything up for you? We're leaving in about 30._**

"Concert's over," I tell Em. "If you need something from a store, I can have Anthony get it."

"I'm good, thanks," he replies, sitting up and gathering his trash.

"You don't have to go right away. They won't be back for at least an hour, and we're not scheduled to hit the road until two-ish."

"Actually, I'm pretty tired. The nap I got this afternoon wasn't long enough to compensate for missing a night of sleep." He stands, throws his trash away in the kitchen, and heads to the door.

"Oh, that's right. You must be exhausted. At least the long drive to Denver should give you a chance to catch up."

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Well, um, hope your headache stays away."

"Me, too. Thanks for everything you did tonight. You were a lifesaver."

"Anything for you, Bella."

There's an awkward pause as we both stand by the open door. Em's got that intense look in his eyes again, and I feel like shivering.

Not good.

I reach out and take his hands. "I'm glad we hung out again tonight. You've become a really great _friend_, and that means a lot to me." I hope the slight emphasis I put on the status of our relationship will help us both keep things straight.

"It means a lot to me, too," he says softly, giving my hands a squeeze. If he's offended or disappointed, he doesn't show it. "Good night, Bella. Sweet dreams."

"'Night, Em."

* * *

><p><strong>*waves to the brave souls who are still hanging on for the ride* Muchos besos to you all!<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The ride to Denver is uneventful. It seems most of the band members are using the long drive to catch up on sleep, Anthony included. I'm right there with him—my headache never seems to go away completely, and I appreciate the pain-free periods of unconsciousness.

During one stretch where we both happen to be awake at the same time, I bring up the incident with Em.

"So let me get this straight," Anthony says testily, "My brother wanted to help with your _headache_, so you took off your clothes, lay down on the bed, and then he rubbed hot oil all over your naked body?"

"No! That's not what I said—were you even listening? I took off just my shirt, but I had a robe on...I mean, I did pull down my bra straps, but I kept my bra _on_. And it wasn't all over my naked body, jeez! It was just my shoulders and the base of my neck, and—"_  
><em>

His snort of laughter interrupts my worried rant.

"I'm just fucking with you, Babe. I trust you, and I know Em wouldn't come onto you like that." Then he frowns. "Hell, sometimes I wonder if he's ever going to get with anyone. Poor kid's gotta be frustrated as fuck."

"Not every guy's as horny as you," I say, rolling my eyes.

"You'd be surprised..." He gives me a devilish smirk and pinches my thigh. "Like you're one to talk, Ms. Nympho."

"Shut up!" I laugh as he leans over to kiss me.

At this point, I expect us to begin upholding our libertine reputations with a round or two of sweaty sex, but instead, he draws me gently into his arms.

"You know, I never had a girlfriend before and never wanted one. But then you came along and...you make me really happy, Babe."

His words catch me off guard, and the only response I can make is to squeeze my arms around him and kiss his chest. We lie together like this until sleep claims us again.

When the caravan arrives in Denver, Em once again joins me for rehearsal at the convention center where the concert's being held. He and I talk music the entire time, and I feel privileged to hear him speak. Our discussions are just as good, if not better, than those I had with my college seminar professors.

"You said you never went to college, yet you know so much about theory, composition, and history. Is it all self-taught?"

He nods. "My aunt understood my anxiety and home-schooled me. I did mostly independent study during the high school years. I was able to go through a lot more material by myself, and you'd be surprised how much free time you have on your hands when you have no friends." He chuckles, but there's sadness underneath.

Anthony and I eat a late lunch in his dressing room. He and Jake have been dealing with issues concerning the additional shows since they stepped off their trailers, and Anthony's tense mood is back. I want to do something to help, to show my support, but it's quickly apparent that he just wants space to brood alone. When it's almost time for the concert to begin, I place a kiss on his temple and head to my seat in the arena.

Everything goes well during the first part of the performance. Seth shows off some of his keyboarding skills, and Tyler manages to play "If I Could" correctly. I smile when I see Anthony tip his head to the saxophonist. It's so cool to know the inside stories.

During intermission, Rosalie turns to me, a serious expression on her face.

"Bella, can I talk to you?"

"Of course. You know you don't have to ask."

"Well, it's just that we've been doing our own thing this summer, and I feel like we've grown apart."

I really want to point out that I've tried several times to hang out with her, but there's no way she'd acknowledge her culpability in our estrangement.

Instead, I give her a friendly smile. "Do you want to talk now or get together after the show? I wouldn't mind having a girl's night, in or out."

"Let's go to dinner, someplace nice. You should have enough for that considering all the money you've saved since hooking up with Anthony."

An annoyed frown replaces my grin. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Rosalie waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, calm down. I just mean that you haven't had to spend nearly as much on this tour as you'd planned with Anthony footing the bills."

Gee, I can't imagine why I haven't missed her company all that much.

We join the guys in the green room after the second act—there's no meet and greet this time. I'm glad, not that I would have gone, anyway. The week after I joined Anthony on tour, I sat in on one. It was a mistake. The guests thought I was officially involved and wanted photos with me. After being asked several inappropriate questions about him and our relationship, I had excused myself from the room.

Anthony's fine with me ditching him, but Laurent looks as if someone's taking away his favorite toy. Actually, that assessment might not be too far from the truth. He pouts and tries to change her mind. Rosalie seems annoyed, and I don't blame her.

While she's saying goodbye to him, I notice that Em is staring at her again, an unhappy expression on his face. I haven't caught him watching her in a while and wonder if he's still interested. Maybe I'll have to say something in warning to one or both of them. Now that I consider Em a friend, I couldn't stand to see him hurt, especially by someone like Rosalie. He deserves better.

Em's gaze shifts to Anthony, and his scowl gets deeper. In fact, his expression is almost frightening, and for the first time, I see a suggestion of the dangerous person inside who's mentioned in his music. It gives me chills, and not in a good way.

I'm still staring when he glances over at me. Instantly, the menace clears from his face. He gives me a questioning look.

I shake my head and offer a weak smile.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Rosalie says, breezing by me.

I'm not really dressed for a fancy restaurant, so we stop to change at the trailers. Rosalie drools over Anthony's accommodations.

"God, Bella, do you realize how good you have it? I have to share with Tyler, and that man is high, like, all the time. At first I thought it was cool scoring free weed and E and shit, but I'm over it. I don't know how Laurent's put up with him for so long. Ty's either loud and obnoxious or moping around complaining about no one 'understanding him.'"

She surveys Anthony's bedroom a final time before we leave. "Laurent's room isn't half the size of this. I can barely move around in it!"

"That's not what you said the first night you stayed with him," I remind her.

"Jesus, Bella! As usual, you're missing the point." She fails to mention exactly what her point is.

Rosalie chooses some swanky restaurant with a French name that I can't pronounce. It's one of those places that doesn't put prices on their menus. I sigh at the thought of how much this is going to cost me.

Rosalie was right about one thing, though. I do have a lot more to my name at this point than I'd expected. The first time Anthony and I went out, he nearly choked on his after-dinner mint when I offered to pay my share. I couldn't get him to stop laughing for several minutes and never tried to give him money again.

"So what's up?" I ask Rosalie after our orders are taken.

"I just wanted to hang with my girl—you know, catch up on things." She gives me a winning smile.

"Okay, then. How are you doing these days?"

Lunging forward, she grabs my hand over the table, nearly knocking over my water glass. "Oh, Bella, I don't know what to _do_!" she sighs dramatically. "Laurent is great, but he wants so much right now. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it all."

"All of what?"

"He wants me to live with him after the tour, for starters. That's not a big deal by itself—New York City was on my short list of places to move—but he's already hinting at getting engaged! Christ, the other day, he asked me if I liked kids!" She scoffs and sits back in her chair. "Can you imagine me wiping the snot off some little brat's gooey nose?"

I try to hide my sardonic smile. I _can_ imagine it, and the scene in my head is hilarious.

"Have you talked to him about slowing down?" I ask. "Tell him you're not quite there yet?"

"Well, it's not just the timing that I'm not sure about. He'd probably be okay with waiting, but that's also one of the things I can't stand about him. He talks a big game about all this stuff that he wants—more solos in concerts, maybe recording his own album, being a bigger star—but he won't take steps to make it happen. He just…waits. I feel like he's going to be stuck in the band for the rest of his life."

"And the problem with that is…?"

Rosalie gives me a pitying look as if she can't believe my idiocy.

"Bella, my father is the CEO of the largest insurance company in the U.S. How does it look for me to settle down with someone like Laurent—a backup performer with no ambition for making a name of his own? "

"Uh—"

"Even in these past few weeks, I've gotten so much shit from my friends…my other friends, that is. And, no offense, Bella, you've got to admit that it doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?" I ask carefully, steeling myself for the insult to come.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on. You know that _I_ don't care about your background or lack of money, but no one else can understand why Anthony picked someone like you—a nobody—over someone like me, a person from a family of stature."

"A nobody," I repeat, my voice low and deadly.

She raises her hands up in a gesture of innocence. "Don't shoot the messenger, hon! Haven't you been reading what everyone's saying on the internet?"

"No, I haven't. I don't pay attention to shit like that."

"If you're planning on staying with Anthony, you'd better. Maybe you could get yourself a PR person or something…though I don't know how you'd afford it. I'd say use one of his, but that could backfire when—um, _if_—you two split up." She takes a sip of her wine. "How are things going with you and him, anyway?"

I know her far too well to miss the focused interest underlying her casual tone.

"It's great. We're having a lot of fun together." There's no way in hell I'm giving her any details.

"Yeah? That's good. What are you doing after the tour's over?"

I pick up my own glass of wine. "We've talked about a few things. Nothing concrete yet, especially since the schedule change happened."

"Can you believe it?" she says, her eyes bright with excitement. "The news was trending within minutes. It's, like, a devastating scandal, and we're in the middle of it!"

"How is it a scandal? Jazz just wants to spend time with his family."

"But to announce it now? And then add those extra shows? Tickets for the rest of the concerts are going for thousands on eBay. It's insane. Didn't you notice how crazy the audience was tonight? There was a girl behind us bawling the entire time."

"Huh. I don't know how I missed that. I guess I was into the music too much."

Our salads arrive, and we continue talking over dinner. Rosalie tries to bring up the subject of Anthony and me several times, but I evade like a pro. I'm even careful to limit my alcohol consumption to two drinks so I don't accidentally run my mouth. I can't tell if she's up to something or just being her nosy self, but I'm not taking chances with my privacy or Anthony's.

The caravan leaves first thing the next morning, and it's another long drive as we head to Chicago. Anthony sleeps in later than I do, and when he wakes up, he's in a very quiet mood. I'm surprised to see him go straight for a glass of bourbon—it's not even 1 p.m. He ignores my questioning glances, and I don't say anything until the third consecutive refill.

When I ask what's wrong, he shakes his head tiredly and goes back into the bedroom. By the time I make up my mind to follow him in, he's already asleep under the covers.

Concerned, I send a text to Em asking if he has any idea what's bothering his brother. There's no reply for a good hour, and then I receive a one-word message.

**_Chicago_**

It hits me like a slap to the face. We're going to Chicago, Anthony and Em's place of birth, the city they left as children after their parents died. The place where their mother and father are buried.

I feel a rush of sympathy and helplessness. I have no idea what, if anything, I can do to support both of them. Undoubtedly, the next two days are going to be rough.

I send Em one more text.

**1:42 p.m. If you need anything, I'm here for you.**

There's no reply.

Anthony wakes up around five, and I'm able to get food in him. Hopefully, it will soak up some of the alcohol he's downing. Given his past behavior, I know he would rather be left alone. I do what I can to show him I'm available without being pushy.

At the same time, I feel a mixture of hurt and annoyance—and then guilt because of my irritation. I shouldn't be thinking about myself when he's obviously suffering. But...I can't help worry what his behavior means for our relationship.

He never opens up to me, never gives me more, and I'm beginning to wonder if there _is_ more. He's an amazing musician—he gathers the emotion of the music, amplifies and expresses it. But I have yet to see him generate any of his own. It's not a criticism, it's just...an observation.

An important one for me, though. I pursued Anthony that first night looking for nothing other than memorable sex with my idol. He wanted to take things further, and I was hesitant. Since then, it's been better than I ever expected, yet here I am now, feeling like something's missing, wanting even _more_. The worrisome part is that, even though I have no idea what I'm looking for, I have a sinking feeling Anthony's not capable of giving it.

Maybe I should be thankful for whatever I can get from a person like him, whether it's his time, affection, fidelity—any and all of it is seemingly more than he's ever offered anyone else. So many people dream of being in my shoes, _yearn_ for such an honor. And according to Rosalie, I'm nobody, so I guess I should be even more grateful that he wants _me_.

I sit on the couch for a long time, thinking about Anthony and me, our relationship, the end of the tour, my goals and hopes, how it all fits together.

At some point, I drift into a fitful sleep. It's hard to know whether I'm awake or dreaming when I get the sensation of being picked up and carried.

My body has no trouble identifying reality, however, when I feel a hot sucking pressure on my neck and fingers under my shirt.

"Babe, I need you," Anthony murmurs into my skin. He curls his palm around my breast and squeezes, hard.

The sweet pain goes straight to my entrance. I rotate my hips, searching for relief from the rapidly growing ache.

Lips trail across my collarbone and to my shoulder. There's a sharp sting as his teeth take hold. I moan with pleasure, and he releases me to whisper in my ear.

"I want to fuck you so hard. I want to make you scream. Will you let me, babe? Will you give me what I need?"

"Yes," I cry out as he rubs his erection over my covered slit.

He jerks down my shorts and lets me wiggle out of them as his hands tug off my shirt. I'm still in the process of lying back down when he slams into me.

He's hard and relentless. All I can do is brace myself against the force of his thrusts. The angle he enters me is pure torture—it teases, but it doesn't satisfy. I try to change my position, but his weight is pinning me down.

"Fuck, babe, you feel so good," he rasps, alcohol heavy on his breath. "I love touching you. I love being inside you. I love fucking you. I fucking love you."

My gasp is cut off by his tongue sweeping inside my mouth. I feel pressure everywhere as he continues to pound into me while digging fingers into my flesh to hold me still.

"Damn, baby, I'm gonna come…gonna…ah!"

He rams into me one last time, and I feel him pulse and shudder as he fills me.

"Anthony!" I whimper as he collapses on top of me. "Anthony, babe, I need—"

A quiet snore interrupts my plea. He's out cold.

"Fuck."

Yeah, I want to scream alright, but from a very different reason than he'd implied earlier. I'm throbbing with need, and what I want to ease the ache is slipping out of me as it softens. I wiggle out from under his dead weight—thank god he was lying on me at an angle—and head to the bathroom.

I finish myself off in the shower, but it's not very satisfying. I'm too busy trying not to think about anything to concentrate on pleasure. I'm _especially _trying not to think about what he panted in the midst of fucking me.

My attempt at mindlessness works until I find myself dressed, sitting on the couch, and staring at a wall. That's when it hits me.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the familiar stabbing behind my eye returns. Did Anthony really just confess that he loved me, or was it a mistake made in the throes of desire? He was drunk and could have easily switched the order of the words up. I wonder if he even realized what he said. Will he remember when he wakes up?

Do I _want_ him to remember?

The headache is rapidly getting worse, and I dig through Anthony's medicine stash. There's an old prescription for Tylenol with codeine, and I thankfully gulp one down with a glass of water.

Lying back down on the couch, I close my eyes and wait for relief to find me.

* * *

><p><strong>Eternal thanks to Oldenuf2knobeta, who preread through the end of Part One.<strong>

**All my love to you wonderful readers! ooxx**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The rest of the day and night pass in a haze. I wake up a few times to go to the bathroom and get something to eat. On each occasion, I notice signs that Anthony has been up and about, but when I check on him, he's sleeping in bed.

We finally run into one another at dawn, when the caravan is nearing the outskirts of Chicago. I rise from the couch and head to the bathroom just as Anthony is exiting, a towel wrapped low around his hips.

"Hey babe," he greets in a hoarse voice and holds a hand out to me. When I take it, he pulls me close.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, my cheek against his warm bare chest.

"The real question is, 'Are _you_ okay?'"

"Yeah. I mean, I can't seem to get rid of this damned headache, but that's it. Why do you ask?" There's no way I'm going to bring up the subject of his drunken mid-sex declaration.

He sighs. "Most of yesterday is a blur to me, but I think I remember being pretty rough with you. Are you…hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." No reason to mention the bite on my shoulder or the redness on my hips. It's not the first time we've marked each other.

He squeezes me tightly. "That's a relief. I was so worried. I thought about waking you to ask, but you seemed really out of it."

I pull back to look at his face. "You never told me how you're doing. Is there anything you want to, um, talk about?"

"No." His body tenses, and I can see him struggle to keep his expression neutral. "I appreciate your offer, but you know how I feel about whining over the past. The only thing is does is suck you down and hold you back."

"But maybe if you—"

"Bella, I know you're trying to help, but please let this go. I don't want to get mad, but it's going to happen if you push the issue."

"Okay," I say quietly.

He draws me in for another hug and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Thank you. And don't worry. Everything's good."

I try to do as he says, but everything is clearly _not _good with him—he barely utters a word to me for the rest of the morning. Mumbling something about talking to Jeff, the sound crew manager, he heads out to rehearsal early. I think he just wants to be alone, which makes me feel bad for encroaching on his personal space in the trailer.

As I get ready for the day, I think back over Anthony's words and behavior. Nothing in them makes me think that, even if he intended to say those three little words, he remembers doing so. I note the relief I feel after coming to this conclusion but don't dwell on it. My head's too full of other concerns.

I decide to check on Em and see how he's doing before catching a shuttle to the arena. There's no answer at his trailer door, and he doesn't reply to my text or answer his phone. I hope he's just asleep or ignoring me instead of drowning his troubles in alcohol like his brother tried to do.

My unease heightens when he doesn't show for rehearsal. It's the first time since I've been traveling with the band that he hasn't attended. I send him another text asking him to let me know that he's okay.

Meanwhile, Anthony is in rare form during the set list run-through. Every little thing sets him off, and several microphones are broken as a result. His band mates take it in relatively good stride; it's obvious that they're cutting him slack because of the situation.

By the time the concert begins, I feel like I'm going to explode with all the helpless frustration inside me. Anthony had started drinking again about an hour before the guys were due on stage, and I still haven't heard from Em. Anthony merely shrugged and knocked back the rest of his tequila when I asked if he had any idea where his brother might be.

With all the alcohol in his system, I'm worried that Anthony might have trouble during the performance, but the opposite occurs—I've never seen him so raw and part of the music. His body is a conduit for the energy inherent within the notes. He strips down every song to its core and exposes undiluted emotion, consumes it, and turns himself inside out to share his soul with the audience.

At intermission, Rosalie and I glance at each other to discover identically damp eyes. We know we've just experienced something incredible.

I don't go to him during the break. There's no doubt in my mind that he doesn't want company right now. Instead, I try not to think about the lack of response from Em as I close my eyes and relive the past 90 minutes of music. My meditation is disturbed a few times by fans of Anthony who either want photos or information. I arrange my face into a pleasant expression for the pictures and politely rebuff the gossipmongers. I can't believe I'm actually getting used to being in the spotlight.

The second half isn't as incendiary as the first, but Anthony still gives a heart-rending effort. Tumultuous applause thunders through the arena, and the band returns for three encores. The enthusiasm level is almost as high after the third as it was before the first, but house lights signal the end of the show.

Back in the green room, the atmosphere is buzzing with electricity. Everyone is riding the high brought on by the night's performance. Alcohol flows freely—even Seth is sucking down a beer. Tyler and Jake are playing High-Low with a deck of cards and a pitcher, while Jasper looks on with a Guinness in his hand. Anthony gestures with his lowball glass as he talks to Laurent and Rosalie.

"Babe!" Anthony calls out when he sees me enter the room. "Are you ready to head out? We're tearing up this town tonight."

He pulls me into his body and attacks my mouth with a searing kiss. I can taste the scotch on his tongue.

I lean back to search his face, and he gives me a sultry smirk, his eyes hooded from drinking. He's not trashed yet, but I have no doubt he'll reach that milestone at some point in the evening.

Irina bursts through the door wearing something unusual for her—a smile. Even more shocking, her omnipresent Bluetooth earpiece and phone are nowhere in sight.

"Wow, gentlemen, that was amazing. Just…in-fucking-credible," she raves.

We all laugh at her display of enthusiasm.

"I've got nothing else to say tonight except 'get ready for me to drink your lightweight asses under the table.'"

Catcalls and whoops followed her declaration as everyone prepares to head out. Looks like the whole gang is partying tonight, even Jasper and Seth. Everyone except…

"Have you heard from Em?" I ask Anthony as we climb into dark SUV with tinted windows.

"Christ, babe!" he huffs. "He's a big boy and can handle himself." Anthony glances at my worried features and shakes his head. "Fine, I'll text him. 'Bro,'" he says aloud as he types. "'We're going to the Underground. Bella wants you to come have fun.' Send. There, how's that?"

"Uh, great. Thanks," I mutter.

Apparently, going to the Underground was a spur-of-the-moment decision, so we wait outside as management makes preparations to receive the large group of celebrities. The club is packed with bodies, and we are led around the perimeter to an L-shaped couch arrangement in the back. As usual, excited chatter and flashes from phones follow in our wake. Since this establishment is on the smaller side compared to some, I wonder if the people who were undoubtedly booted from this couch a few minutes ago are pissed that we were given their spot.

After about twenty minutes, Tyler convinces Seth to join him on the dance floor in order to pick up some girls. I flash Seth a thumbs up in support, though I'm sure he'll have no problem finding dance partners. Jake and Bartender Chick also go out on the floor, where they immediately start tongue wrestling. Irina's hanging out at the bar with her assistant manager, Eli. Rosalie and Laurent are engaged in an intense-looking conversation at the far end of the couch, while Jasper seems content to relax in his seat beside Anthony.

The latter has slowed down his alcohol consumption, and I'm glad for it. Drowning his grief may give him temporary respite, but when the pain does come back, it'll be that much more difficult to handle.

"Rosie, mon amour. What are you saying? You cannot be serious." Laurent's voice raises loud enough for us to hear the sheer panic in it over the club noises.

"Shh! You're making a scene," Rosalie hisses as her eyes flash to me, Anthony, and Jasper.

"But I love you! I want to marry you! How can you say that we need some time apart?"

"Let's talk about this somewhere else," she growls and pulls him off the sofa. They disappear into the throng of people in front of us.

"What's that all about?" Jasper muses aloud.

"Sounds like the beginning of a difficult week for us," Anthony jokes, looking to me for confirmation.

I shrug, not sure if Rosalie had talked to me in confidence. Anthony and Jasper speculate on Laurent's fate for a few minutes until Anthony's phone rings.

"What?" he shouts into the phone, plugging a finger in one ear. "Em, is that you? You're where? No shit! Let me send someone out."

He ends the call and dials a number off a business card lying in front of him. "Hello, is this Cindy? Yes, that's right. Well, my brother just arrived, and he needs an escort to our table. He's outside at the main entrance with one of your guys named Peter. Thanks a lot, Cindy, I appreciate it."

"Em is _here_?" Jaspers asks, incredulous.

Anthony shakes his head in wonder. "So he says. I'm still going to have to see it to believe it."

Em's presence is confirmed five minutes later when a smartly-dressed woman leads him to where we're sitting. He looks rough—his oversized tee shirt is rumpled, his hair is more disheveled than usual, and he seems to be stumbling a little. When he draws closer to us, I note that his eyes are bloodshot, his face drawn. My heart breaks at the sight.

"Well, fuck me sideways," Anthony laughs. "I never thought this day would come. What's the occasion?"

Em fixes narrowed eyes on me. "I'm here to have _fun_."

I recoil at the venom in his tone. Is he mad at me?

Anthony raises his glass in approval. "It's about damned time. What am I buying you to drink, little bro?"

"Your choice. Just makes sure there's a lot of it."

My dismayed sigh is drowned out by Anthony's elated cheer. He has several shot glasses and a bottle of Casa Dragones tequila brought over. He's in the midst of pouring when two broadly smiling girls stop in front of us.

"Hi! Sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if we could get a photo," says the taller of the pair. She's got dark brown, almost black hair and is wearing an extremely low-cut blouse that leaves little to the imagination. The friend is a strawberry blonde, and while her shirt is more conservative, her skirt is so tight that I can tell she doesn't have on any underwear. Of course, I'm not judging either girl's wardrobe. There are a few similarly slutty pieces in my own suitcase.

Anthony dips his head graciously, and I offer to take the picture. Jasper scoots down the couch to make room for them between himself and Anthony, and Em stands up to get out of the frame.

"Hell no!" Anthony exclaims. "I'm sure these beautiful ladies would love to have my _brother_ in the picture, too." He gives them a devastating smile that makes them putty in his hands. I bite my lip to keep from chuckling.

"Yeah, that'd be great," sighs the tall one. She hasn't even glanced Em's way yet.

He tries to protest. "I don't think that—"

"You wanted some fun, right, Em?" Anthony challenges, his eyes flashing with mischief.

After a moment of indecision, Em caves and goes to sit in the space the girls make between them.

"What are your names?" Jasper asks politely as I prepare my shot.

"I'm Emily, and this is Erin." The taller one is obviously the more outgoing girl.

"You're kidding!" Anthony laughs heartily. "Two names that start with 'e.' Em, I think it's fate."

"Look here and smile," I call out before snapping the photo.

"What did you mean?" Emily asks, putting her phone back into her tiny purse.

Anthony knocks back two shots in succession, then leans back against the couch and pulls me onto his lap. "Oh, nothing, really. It's just that our parents had a thing with that particular letter. Both _their_ names began with 'e,' and _they_ thought it would be a brilliant idea to keep the tradition going with their kids."

I lean to the side and glance at him. His voice is just a little too bright, too upbeat. It almost sounds like there's an edge of hysteria in it. Jasper must hear something similar, because his face becomes thoughtful as he regards his friend.

Erin looks at Anthony in confusion. "Your name doesn't start with an 'e,'" she says.

Emily groans in embarrassment. "Oh my god, Erin. _Everyone_ knows that 'Anthony' is his middle name."

"You bet," Anthony confirms and smirks at his brother. "Of course, we don't go by our first names because—fuck—this isn't the 1880s, right? We shouldn't be hanging on to the past." He mock punches Em's shoulder to emphasize his point.

Em flushes a dark red, and his hands tighten into fists. I'm concerned that things are going to escalate between the brothers, so I suggest we all do a round of shots.

The expensive tequila is incredibly smooth as it slides down my throat, and I'm eager to have another. Anthony declares that we'll finish off the rest and then hit the dance floor. In a surprisingly fast move, Em grabs the bottle to pour the shots for everyone. I notice that he serves himself a double each time.

"So, girls, who's going to be the lucky one to show my brother a good time?" says Anthony, his words starting to slur a little. "He's been saving himself for just the right lady, and I have a feeling tonight might be his night."

Emily and Erin share a glance and giggle. "Do you think there could be _two _that're right for you?" Emily purrs, sliding a hand down Em's chest.

I know I must look like a fish out of water—my mouth is gaping open, and my eyes are bugging out. Em shifts uneasily under Emily's touch, and I'm about to say something to stop her advance when he turns a burning glare on either Anthony or me, or possibly both of us. I shrink back from his glower, but Anthony's smirk gets bigger.

Em stares us down, pulls out a flask—what the hell?—from the waistband of his jeans, and takes a healthy swig.

"Let's go dance," he mumbles and tugs the girls toward the dance floor.

"It's about fucking time!" Anthony hoots as he slides me off his lap. "Come on, babe. I don't want to miss a second of this."

Em has to push his way through the crowd to reach the dance area, but the sea of bodies instantly parts to let Anthony through. Anthony's rubbing his hands up and down my body while we walk, but I barely feel it. I'm too busy gawking at Em as he wraps his arms around Emily from behind and begins to move against her. Erin presses into his back and latches her hands onto his hips.

I turn around to face Anthony. "I don't think this is a good idea. Em's clearly drunk and not thinking straight."

He takes a step into me and bends down to my ear. "It's a perfect idea—exactly what he needs. Now forget about him, and think about _this_." He grinds against me, and I feel his hard dick slide over my hipbone.

"Anthony, look." I gesture toward Em, who is taking another drink from his flask as the girls rub all over him. "We can't let this go too far. I don't know if he's had sex before or not, but I _do_ know he'll regret doing anything with those two. This isn't who he is."

"What are you talking about?" Anthony says, clearly getting irritated. "You think you know my own brother better than I do? What's best for him?"

I step back out of his arms. "I'm not saying that. I just…he's a good friend, and I feel like he's acting this way for the wrong reasons. If I was about to make a drunken mistake, I hope my friends would try to stop me."

Anthony shakes his head, swaying in place just a bit. "Sorry to be blunt, but you're wrong. Trust me, I'm a guy, and there's nothing better than a good fuck to get your mind off shit you want to forget. That's exactly what he wants, or else he wouldn't be here acting like _that_."

I follow his gaze back to Em, who is barely visible between the two girls wrapped around him. One of his hands is on Erin's ass, and the other is curled around Emily's breast. His head looks heavy on his shoulders, and his eyes are half-closed. Emily turns her head to say something to him and then leads him off the dance floor, Erin hot on their heels.

"Where are they taking him?" I mutter, beginning to go after them. Anthony grasps my wrist to stop me.

"Babe, please let it go. I've been trying to get him to loosen up for years. He _needs_ this."

I can tell that, despite the obvious effects of the alcohol in his system, he sincerely believes what he's saying. My heart, head, and conscience are all at war.

"Can we just go make sure that they're not stealing his money or something?" I rub my temples as my head starts to throb. "Maybe set him up in a hotel room so we know he won't end up passed out in the street?"

I'm not sure if the sense in my suggestion registers in his mind or if he just doesn't feel like arguing any more. He rolls his eyes. "Do whatever you want, Bella. I'm going back to hang with Jasper. When you feel like paying more attention to me than to my brother, come join us.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I watch Anthony teeter away and then hurry in the direction I think the girls went. Em isn't anywhere in sight, so I ask club personnel if they've seen him. I get lucky near the front entrance.

"Yeah, the sloppy drunk with the two hot chicks? They went outside to catch a cab," says one of the hosts. He chuckles. "I wouldn't want to be in a tight space with him, though. He'll probably redecorate it with whatever's in his stomach."

I call out a "thanks" over my shoulder as I push past people to squeeze through the single glass door. The sidewalk is crammed with people waiting to gain entrance or merely socializing, but I don't see Em or the girls among them.

As I continue to scan the crowd, I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. It doesn't make sense to me why I'm so worked up about what is likely a huge overreaction on my part—perhaps it's the culmination of a day's worth of worry and frustration.

Not wanting to muss my makeup, I dab underneath my eyes and smooth down my hair. Several deep breaths help to calm me as I prepare to go back into the club. I'm just about to approach the doorman when I see Emily and Erin step out from a small walking path between the Underground building and the one beside it. They're both wearing disgusted looks on their faces.

"Where the fuck is my friend?" I demand, striding angrily toward them.

Emily scowls and jerks her head toward the walking path. "He's back there puking his guts out. Gross. I don't care if he _is_ Anthony's brother—I'm not babysitting his wasted ass." She marches back toward the club. Erin shrugs sheepishly and tries to keep up.

I don't give them a second thought as I round the building corner as fast as my heeled sandals will allow. The walkway isn't dark, but it's not as brightly lit as the sidewalk. I spot Em hunched over and kneeling on the ground about halfway down the path.

"Em!" I cry, crouching down beside him. I'm careful to avoid the puddle of watery vomit in front of his knees.

"What do you want, Bella?" he coughs, his chin on his chest.

I know he's messed up, but the surprising vitriol in his voice still hurts.

"I want to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fucking peachy, so feel free to go back to Anthony where you belong."

I put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away, nearly falling over in the process. I stare at him, my hand still outstretched as the damn tears threaten to well up again.

"Why are you so mad at me? What did I do?" My voice cracks toward the end, and I wince in shame at my weakness.

Em finally looks at me, squinting as he tries to focus on my face. He stares for a few seconds, then groans and crawls around the puddle to sit against the building wall.

"I'm not mad at you. Sorry. As for what you did…it's complicated."

I carefully lower myself to the ground beside him. "Try me."

He shakes his head, then rests it against his drawn-up knees. "I can't."

"What? Why not?"

Another shake of his head and a low moan are the only responses I get, and with that, I reach my saturation point.

"Alright, that's enough. Come on, get up." I rise to my own feet and pull on his upper arm. "Do you want me to take you back to your trailer, or would you rather get a hotel room nearby?"

He lets me help him to his feet and accepts my support as we make our way to the street.

"Trailer, I guess," he mumbles. "I don't feel so hot, though. Oh, god."

Em seems to take a turn for the worse and leans heavily against me. An Underground doorman notices my struggle and helps me get Em into a cab. He's also kind enough to give me a plastic bag for the ride. I'm about to climb into the vehicle when I hear Rosalie's voice behind me.

"Where are you going, Bella? Where's everyone else?"

I turn to face her. "Em's had too much to drink, so I'm taking him back to the buses. I think Anthony and Jazz are still in our spot…no idea about Seth and Ty." My gaze circles around her. "What happened to Laurent? Are you two…okay?"

"Ha, I'm great. As for Laurent—he didn't take our breakup very well. When I finally got it through his head that we were over, he started bawling like a baby. It was ridiculous. I left him on a corner about four blocks back."

"Rose!" I exclaim, feeling terrible for Laurent. "How could you just ditch him on the street like that?"

"Hey, I tried to do this as nicely and calmly as possible, but he had to be all dramatic about it. I wasn't about to stand there and listen to him beg all night for another chance." She shrugs, obviously considering the matter closed.

"God, you are such a bitch," I say in disgust.

"Yeah, pretty much. I don't have time in my life to waste on people who aren't going anywhere."

The cab driver clears his throat loudly, and it's the perfect catalyst for me to end the conversation. If I talk to her any longer, it'll be me who needs the vomit bag.

"Speaking of going somewhere, we're gonna take off." I climb into the cab and try to shut the door, but she holds onto it.

"Hey, are you coming back later, you know, for Anthony?"

"God, Rose, I don't know. Probably not. I've got more important things to take care of right now."

She casts me a speculative glance. "Yeah, I can see that." The cab door is slammed shut in my face.

"Bitch," I repeat under my breath as we drive away.

It's touch and go for Em on the ride back. Several times, he shoves his face in the bag but manages to keep it down on each occasion. It doesn't help that the cabbie, who keeps eyeing Em warily, is breaking land speed records to get us to our destination as soon as possible.

Em is trying to rest against the door frame, but the errant driving causes his head to bang repeatedly against the window. He's so out of it that he doesn't move until I grab his shoulders and pull him toward me. A sharp turn of the vehicle propels his body against mine, and I end up squashed against the opposite door. Of course, it so happens that his face is planted snugly in my chest.

"Jesus, Em, your head weighs a ton." I attempt to push him off but have no leverage with my elbows pinned against the seat.

"That's 'cause it's big. Like the rest of me. Really big, heh," he mutters, drops of saliva splattering on my skin.

"I'm sure it is," I say diplomatically. "You know, it would be great if you'd try to stop drooling on me."

"But you're so delicious." He shoves his nose into my cleavage and inhales deeply. "Mm, yummy Bella."

I'm not sure which surprises me more—his drunken action or my involuntary _re_action. I shift uncomfortably under his weight and try to get the situation under control.

"Whoa there, Don Juan. That's yellow light behavior. How about you help me get us in a more appropriate position?"

"I've got a position for you."

"Em, what the hell? You didn't turn into Mr. Lothario last time you were buzzed."

"Shoulda drank more then." His lips are creeping up toward the neckline of my shirt.

"You're a mess. Come on, up you go." I shove with all my strength and am able to move him off me…straight onto the floor of the cab. His head makes a dull thud when it hits.

"Shit! Are you okay? Em?" I try to pull him back onto the seat, but he's all crumpled up and just too heavy for me.

"What's going on back there? Did he throw up? I charge extra for cleaning." The driver sounds equal parts alarmed and angry.

"Iz all good, just hangin' out down here," Em mumbles from the floor. "Are we home yet?"

"Actually, yes." The cabbie steps on the brakes hard at the makeshift checkpoint entrance to our caravan site.

He thrilled when one of the team's security personnel help me get Em out of the car. He doesn't even wait for the extra tip I'm digging out of my purse—he just speeds away.

The cooler outside air seems to help sober Em up a bit, and he's able to stagger back to the steps of his trailer with moderate help from me. He pulls a small set of keys out of his pocket and puts them in my hand. Then he leans over to throw up all over his shoes. Twice.

I'm able to jump out of the way in time, thank god, but Em is a watery mess. Apparently, his hands got caught in the deluge and are dripping. The bottoms of his jeans are also wet.

"Fuck," he groans, wiping his hands on his thighs. "This isn't good." His knees start to bend as if he's trying to sit down, and I quickly yank him toward the steps so he doesn't put himself in the middle of the puddle.

"Bella? What's going on?" He squints up at me unlocking his door. "Why are we here?"

"I'll remind you later. First, we need to get you cleaned up. Wait on the steps, okay? Don't try to go anywhere."

I sprint inside his trailer, grab some clothes out of a suitcase, and stop to run water over a towel from the bathroom on my way back outside. Em is still sitting down, doubled over with his head between his knees and making low groaning noises.

"Alright. Let's work on putting you to bed. We need to get you out of those nasty clothes, and I'm really hoping you can do it by yourself."

Thanks to loose laces on his Chucks, he's able to kick off his shoes and socks without too much trouble. I have to help him out of his jeans, which could have been an awkward situation if we both weren't so grossed out by the amount of vomit on him. When we get the tee shirt off, he's standing in front of me clad only in boxer briefs, which I studiously avoid looking at.

Em uses the towel on his hands and face. He needs my assistance again in putting on the shirt and shorts I got for him to sleep in. Other than a copious amount of grunts and groans, he doesn't speak to me during the process.

I only have to give minimal assistance when taking him up the steps and into the trailer. The earlier alcohol elimination sessions probably had something to do with his improving condition. He makes it to the bathroom under his own power while I grab the essential water and Tylenol combo from the kitchenette. I also take a loaf of bread along, which I hope to get him to eat.

He's sitting on his mattress clutching his head in his hands when I come back out to the main space.

"Here, take this, drink this, and eat this," I say, handing him the Tylenol first, then the water, and finally the bag of bread.

"I just brushed my teeth," he mumbled, staring at the loaf.

"Later tonight, I think you'll prefer the taste of bread in your mouth over bile."

"Yeah." He takes out a slice and nibbles on a corner. "Thanks."

"Sure." I sigh tiredly, suddenly feeling the effects of the long, stressful day. "Do you think you'll be okay for the rest of the night? Anything else you need?"

"I'll manage." He shakes his head dejectedly. "Bella, I'm really sorry about the way I acted tonight. I was a complete ass to you, and I don't even want to think about the parts I don't remember."

Without intending to, my mind recalls the feeling of his weight on top of me. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose as I push the memory away.

"Oh god, was I that bad?" Em must have caught my expression and misinterpreted it. Sort of.

"Just forget it. Everyone has their shitty days, and given we're in Chi—…uh, I mean…" I try to come up with a quick change of topic, but it's too late. I see his face contorting in anguish before he covers it with his hands again.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Em. Both for bringing it up and for what happened." I sit down on the mattress and put my arms around him.

He takes deep breaths in an effort to calm down, and I just hold him, rubbing circles on his back. After some time, his hands fall into his lap, and he stares at the trailer floor.

"I went to their graves today."

My rhythm falters for a moment, but I quickly resume the pattern on his back. The last thing I want to do is make him feel self-conscious and have him shut down.

He doesn't speak again right away, and I wait.

"Fourteen years, and it still hurts just as much. I don't know if it'll ever get better. I keep thinking…I can't get it out of my head that things would've been different…if I hadn't…" He turns his head away from me to hide the wetness in his eyes.

Once again, he's quiet as he battles secret demons inside him. I stop moving my hand, though I keep it resting on his arm.

"You know I'm here for you, no matter what, right? Whether you feel like talking or not, it's okay."

He nods and then lets out a shuddering breath.

"See, when I was a little kid, I liked sleeping in weird places—under my bed, in closets, buried under a pile of cushions in the living room. My parents didn't mind. In fact, it was sort of a game for Mom and Anthony to search the house in the morning and figure out where I was. But during…the fire…" A sob escapes from his throat before he can muffle it. His hands curl into fists on his thighs as he tries again.

"My mom got Anthony out right away, but Dad couldn't find me. She came back in the house to help him look, but the smoke was too much…the fire was spreading too fast…they couldn't find me…they just couldn't…"

His grief won't be denied this time, and he breaks down completely. I pull him into me as he lets go. I can feel his tears soaking my shirt, and it's all I can do to keep my own at bay. He needs me to be strong right now, and I can't let him down.

"I'd put together a bed of blankets in the tub of the basement bathroom. The fire never made it down there, but...neither did they. I woke up in the arms of a firefighter as he was carrying me out of the smoking house."

Em hunches over and grabs two handfuls of hair. "Anthony's never said anything, but I know there's a part of him that blames me for their deaths. I can see it in his eyes sometimes. He tries to hide it, but I can tell." He scoffs bitterly. "Of course, I feel the same way."

"Em—" I start, but he shakes his head.

"I know, Bella. I know that the fire caused by a faulty electrical connection was what actually killed them. I realize that I was just a kid, shit happens, and I shouldn't blame myself. But I can't help the way I feel. I can't stop myself from thinking that if I had been in my bed like a normal kid, they would have had plenty of time to get me out like they did with Anthony."

I clamp my lips together to keep from speaking. He doesn't need me saying things that he already knows and that won't make anything better. I just squeeze him more tightly to let him feel how much I care.


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm posting this chapter now because Capricorn75 is making me!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 15<p>

Time passes, though I have no idea how much. At some point, Em gets up to go to the bathroom again. I'm pretty sure I hear him throw up.

While he's gone, I send a text to Anthony letting him know I've gotten Em back safely. I also ask how he's doing and if he'll need help getting home later.

When Em returns, the hair around his face his damp. He avoids meeting my worried gaze.

"I'm hungry. You want something to eat?" he asks in a voice that's trying hard to sound casual.

"Uh, sure. I could go for a snack."

I follow Em into the kitchenette and help him make grilled cheese sandwiches. He wolfs down two them straight from the skillet. The food seems to give him a second wind. Even though it's the middle of the night and he had been puking drunk a half hour ago, he's twitching with energy now.

"How do you recover so quickly?" I ask, shaking my head in awe as we clean up.

He shrugs and smiles. "I dunno. Iron liver?"

"Lucky for you. My hangovers are terrible."

Em is about to say something when my phone comes to life from a string of texts.

**_Anthony, 1:40 a.m. Wish you www here babes_**

**_Jaz keeps grabbing my nipez_**

**_Nipples_**

**_He gets hit u when he gets drunk_**

**_Damned autocorrect_**

**_Hornet hornet fuck horny_**

I groan.

"What's up?" Em asks, nudging my foot with his.

Instead of answering, I pass him my phone.

"Looks like someone's drunk texting." He rolls his eyes. "I don't know what he's bitching about, though. He's just as bad when he gets his drink on."

"Yeah, he is," I say, scowling. Anthony's libido shoots through the roof when he hits the alcohol hard. Usually, I'm there to help him out. I wonder what he's going to do with all that excess sexual energy tonight.

Em notices my expression. "Don't worry. The guys won't let him do anything, uh…stupid."

"So you're saying that if they weren't there, he _would_ be doing something stupid?"

"No! I'm sure he wouldn't. I mean, you told him about your dad, right? He must know how you feel about—"

My phone chimes, and Em automatically glances down at the screen. Now he's the one who's grimacing.

"I don't think you have much to worry about," he mutters, handing the phone back to me.

**_Anthony, 1:44 a.m. My dick is hard for you I want to lick your sweet pussy and then fuck you til you're sore I love your tits I want to cum on them_**

My cheeks burn from both embarrassment and arousal. While I'm upset with him about the way he goaded Em earlier, but I can't help my body's reaction when I read the explicit words. In fact, it sort of turns me on more knowing that Em saw them.

I don't know what to say other than a hastily mumbled "sorry."

He gives me a hard stare that makes me squirm.

"What?"

"Are you tired? Want to watch a movie?"

Actually, I'm exhausted and would love to crawl into bed, but I also want to stay with Em.

"Okay."

We plop down on his mattress around a bag of microwave popcorn and watch "Just Go With It." Our interaction is easy and comfortable as we unwind from the day with more of Adam Sandler's nutty antics. When Dave Matthews appears on screen, we start up a discussion about his music and have to pause the movie due to loss of attention. We're arguing over the use of electronic sound on the "Everyday" album when my phone goes off again.

**_Rosalie, 2:32 a.m. Bringing Anthony back early he's smashed. No need to wait up_**

"Everything okay?" Em asks, his curiosity obvious.

I read him the text, and his mouth flattens into the thin line. I feel like I need to explain his brother's earlier actions.

"I don't agree with how he pushed you to be with those girls, but his intentions were good, you know."

"I know." Em's voice is much cooler than it was before. "But he didn't force me into anything."

"You wanted…? Oh."

I look away. His affirmation causes an ache in my chest. I feel the prickling beginning of a realization, but I refuse to acknowledge it. "I'm…sorry things didn't work out for you."

"Yeah, me too." His tone is flat.

I shut the door on all the emotions and thoughts relating me to that subject. Em's sex life is none of my business, and anyway, he deserves to have some good one-night stands if he wants. I'm certainly not a person who can fault him for that.

"I have to apologize, then," I admit. "I was trying to run interference between you and Anthony because I thought alcohol was affecting your judgment. I shouldn't have gotten involved."

"No, it wasn't the alcohol screwing me up," he seethes and flicks his eyes in my direction.

His heated glare feels like an arrow through my heart.

"I'm sorry, Em," I say dejectedly. "Is that why you were mad at me earlier? Is that what I did—stuck my nose in places it didn't belong?"

He continues to glower at me for another few seconds, but then his shoulders hunch as the anger drains out of him.

"Always with the idioms," he says, sounding an odd mix of amused and defeated. "No, that's not what you did, and I already said I wasn't mad at you. But I was taking my problems out on you, and that wasn't fair. I'm the one who's sorry."

"Why won't you tell me what it is I did to make you upset? _That's_ what isn't fair."

"Bella…I can't. I wish…but there are so many reasons I shouldn't. It's just not…right…"

I grab both of his hands and look into his stormy eyes. That same tingle in the back of my mind tells me it's essential that I find out what he won't say.

"Please, Em. _Please._"

He meets my gaze, and I see his strong indecision. It's obvious how much the internal struggle is hurting him, and I can't stand to be responsible for any more of his pain. I sigh and turn away.

"Never mind. It's okay."

But he doesn't let go of my hands and pulls me back when I try to stand up from the mattress.

"No, dammit, it's not okay. Fuck." I look at him and see determination settling over his features. "Just…wait here."

He gets to his feet and retrieves his acoustic guitar. After a quick tuning check, he returns to stand in front of me, anxiety now the dominant expression.

"Bella, this is, um…it's everything I want to say…but can't."

He closes his eyes, his fingers move over the strings.

I recognize the song from the first chord that sounds. It's the piece I heard him play before, that beautiful, stirring melody. It's the same, and yet…there's a difference that's hard to define exactly. The song seems more expressive, more desperate, more hopeful—just _more._ I feel the new intensity resonate in my soul.

And then he sings.

His voice is soft and hesitant at first, but there's no denying the raw passion it contains. He brings all that he is into every verse. The notes are his, the words are his, and each emotion shared was originally forged from his very essence, molded by his heart, and painted by his talent.

He sings of a new love that is ancient as eternity. A broken man who has found his salvation. A never-ending devotion, the willingness to make any sacrifice, an all-encompassing desire. A reason for being. A beautiful woman…_his_ beautiful woman.

His _Bella Mia_.

The first time he sings the chorus, his eyes are shut. He doesn't see my bowed head, clenched hands, and glistening tears. I sit frozen, incapable of thought or movement.

But when he opens his eyes and again forms those words on his lips—looking at me, telling me, asking, pleading—I break apart. It's too much, and I have to get away.

I lurch to my feet and run to the door—escape, my only goal. In the time it takes me to turn the knob and put my foot on the first step, his arms are around me, holding me there.

"Bella, wait! Please don't go. Just…let me explain."

I don't look at him—I can't. It's all so confusing. I have to go, I shouldn't stay...I can't bring myself to pull away from him.

Em tightens his arms, and though I let myself be drawn close to him, the tension in my body remains.

"God, I'm so sorry," he cries. "It was a mistake. I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have shown you how I feel. Just please don't let this ruin our friendship. It's too important to me. I can't lose you. Tell me this won't change anything."

The desperation in his voice is painful to hear. I want to comfort him, but there aren't any reassurances to give.

"I don't know," I whisper. "I just…can't…right now…" With my cheek to his chest, I can feel the thundering crash of his racing heart.

"I-I know you're with Anthony, and I'll...respect that. I can't take back what I did, but it doesn't have to matter. I won't say anything again. We can forget it happened. You and I, we'll just…stay the same—watching movies, talking, hanging out."

His voice cracks as he drops to his knees in front of me and bows his head, touching the top of it to my stomach.

"You're the only person I've ever connected with since the accident. Just seeing you makes me happier than I've been in so long. Bella…I _need_ you in my life."

My heart shatters at his plea, and I place my hands on his damp cheeks. I can't hide from the truth any longer—I can't deny what I've tried so hard to misunderstand.

I'm beginning to have feelings for him.

I have no idea when it began or how it happened or where it could go. Maybe it wouldn't amount to anything more than a deep bond of friendship. But because I'm starting to see Em in a different way, my relationship with Anthony has to come to an end.

It's because of this understanding that I gently tilt his head up and take a step back.

"I can't stay—it won't work," I tell him, tears beginning to fall from my eyes. "Everything's changed. I won't hurt Anthony like that—it's the one thing in my life I promised I would never do to someone else."

Em stares up at me in panicked confusion. "What do you mean? He wouldn't be hurt. He never has to know how I feel about you, and nothing will change! That's all I want, all I _need_. Bella, I—"

A crash and a loud giggle draw our attention. We turn in the direction of the sound, but in the dimly lighted lot, it's difficult to identify the cause. I'm just able to make out two figures coming closer. They seem to be headed toward one of the equipment trailers.

I hear the giggle again—it sounds like Rosalie's. As they pass under an overhead light, I can make out her tall, curvy figure and that of a man who seems to be having a difficult time staying upright.

Anthony.

He's heavily draped over her, and I know how difficult it must be for her to keep him steady. I give Em a regretful, apologetic look as I start down the steps to give her a hand.

Rosalie's head snaps in my direction when she hears my footsteps. We're still a good distance apart, but in the direct light of the streetlamp, her smirk is easy to see. She looks at me for a moment more, then pushes Anthony against the lamp pole and kisses him deeply.

I gasp in shock.

I can hardly believe the blatant actions of a person I once considered a friend. Not only is she deliberately trying to hurt me, she's also pushing herself on an obviously drunk person. Anger fills me as I squeeze my hands into fists, ready to confront her.

But then something happens to stop me in my tracks. Anthony responds, grabbing her shoulders, spinning her around so that she's the one trapped against the light pole. His hand slides up her skirt.

It's almost as if the past has come to life again.

A school event that got cancelled due to power failure, my mom and I coming home early—us, laughing as we walk into the living room together; my father, naked on the couch and ramming his dick into one of Mom's friends.

Even though my stomach churns and my legs shake, I can't tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me. Anthony is sloppily groping Rosalie, sucking on her neck, grinding into her body—even as he fights to keep his balance.

Perhaps I would have stood there and watched in horror as he fucked her against the pole. I don't know. Thankfully, I don't have to find out.

In my daze, I hadn't taken note of the figure running by me, but it's impossible to miss Em as he barrels into his brother and knocks him onto the ground. Landing on top, Em grabs Anthony's shirt, hauls up his chest, and slams it back down.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing? How could you?" Em's fist smashes into his brother's face.

I'm running toward them now, worried how far Em might take this.

"Fuck! Em?" Anthony groans. He seems to have no idea what's happening. "Get..the fuck...off!" He tries to dislodge Em, who's sitting firmly on his stomach.

"You have two seconds to tell me what the hell you were doing with Rosalie," Em growls, having no problems fighting off Anthony's weak attempts.

"Rose? What are you talking about…oh, fuck…I'm gonna…" Anthony gags and tries to roll onto his side. When the first stream of vomit gushes from his mouth, Em jumps off him.

I redirect my attention to Rosalie, who is calmly watching the scene play out. I jerk to a stop in front of her, using all of my self-control to keep from hitting her.

"Spare me your moral diatribe, Bella," she sneers. "In this world, you have to take what you want, and Anthony was all too happy to give it up. Maybe this will teach you to keep your men satisfied."

Her words about Anthony cut me to the quick. Mom still blames herself for not being enough, for being the reason my piece of shit father cheated.

My anger deflates when I think about my insecure, broken mother. I refuse to feel those same pains of guilt or shame.

As I meet Rosalie's triumphant eyes, my mouth forms a sardonic, world-weary smirk.

"I'd fuck you up, but you're not even worth scraping the skin off my knuckles."

I turn my back on her and walk to where Anthony is on all fours and dry heaving. Blood trickles from his nose and lip.

I want to be furious at him, lash out, maybe even kick him in the sack. But there's absolutely nothing left inside me.

I'm numb.

Em watches me, worry etched on his features. "Bella, I'm so fucking sorry."

I nod indifferently as I bend down beside Anthony.

"That was pretty shitty of you," I murmur. "I wish you would have ended things with me before it happened."

He pushes himself back on his heels and tries to focus on my face. "Bella? Babe? I don't feel so…good." Another dry heave stops him from saying anything else.

"Yeah, I bet you don't." I pat him on the back and chuckle humorlessly. "Well, there's no point in me saying something you're not going to remember. Let's get you back to the trailer so I can start packing up my shit."

"Bella, no!" Em grabs my hand. "You can't go…at least, not tonight. You can stay…with me…"

"Em—"

He sees rejection in my eyes and interrupts to continue his plea. "You can have my trailer, and I'll go to his place for the night. Or we'll get you a hotel room. It's too late at night for anything else."

"I will go to a hotel, but I have to get my stuff together first. You guys are leaving in the morning, and I need to be out by then."

"Bella, please—"

It's my turn to cut him off. "Em, let's start with putting Anthony to bed. We'll go from there."

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><p><strong>My only request: Please read the next chapter. It's the last of Part One, but it's one of the most important.<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry I lied Suzy-Chapstick! They made me post it now.**

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><p>Chapter 16<p>

Everything's going well until the twelfth measure, and then the fingers on his right hand trip over each other.

"Shit! I mean…oops." He winces and glances at me in apology. "Sorry."

"No worries." I smile patiently and point to the page. "Why don't you try again from here? Just the soprano and alto lines this time."

I hold back a sigh as I listen to yet another freshman butcher one of Bach's chorales on the piano. Of the five students I had helped so far today, this kid is the most clueless on the instrument. Prior piano experience isn't required for this music theory class, but it makes for a rough semester for the students who are just learning it. As a teaching assistant for the class, I'm not having an easy time of it, either.

"Alright, um…Cory," I say, taking a quick glance at the name on his session log, "You know all the notes, so now it's just a matter of practice. I'm talking at least 30 to 60 minutes _every _day. Otherwise, your performance grade is going to suffer."

He nods eagerly. "Sure thing, Bel—uh, I mean Ms. Swan."

"Bella's fine. So, any questions before I sign off on your sheet?" The students get extra percentage points on their performance grade for attending practice sessions.

He collects his music from the piano and shuffles it nervously in his hands before glancing at me. "Um, what was it like to, uh…"

"Yes?" I work to keep my face neutral. I know where this is going.

"Uh…um, to go to college in Boston?"

Ha, he chickened out. "Actually, Boston College is in Chestnut Hill, about six miles west of downtown Boston. But I went into the city a lot. I loved it."

"That's…great. Well, thanks!"

I give a sarcastic laugh after he hurries out of the small practice room. Another day, another reminder.

Standing up from my chair, I stretch and then check my schedule. I've got a thirty minute break before my next student—long enough to eat the sandwich I brought for lunch. Food's not allowed in the practice rooms, but I don't have time to go elsewhere. That's a consequence of having the most students signed up for sessions out of all the TAs.

It's not because I'm extraordinarily talented on the piano or have a special ability to impart knowledge. No, it's because the students want to stare at, question, glower at, or hit on the girl who fucked the one and only E. Anthony Cullen.

I've gotten somewhat used to it over the four weeks I've spent at the University of Washington. I didn't come to Seattle right away, though. After…everything…I wanted a break from the world, and hiding out at my mom's house sounded ideal. While it's unusual for me to make like an ostrich, there hadn't been much that was normal about that summer, either.

Even in the tiny town of Forks, it was hard to escape the fallout. The very people who had once been so supportive when my dad walked out were now hounding me for details and selling me out to the press. They, and the rest of the world, wanted to know why the girl who had starred in Anthony's longest relationship had suddenly vanished from the tour and his life.

To his credit, I suppose, Anthony's remained mum since it happened just over a year ago. He hasn't coughed up a single detail, even though I'm the only one that benefits from his silence. No one ever expected him to be loyal to me in the first place, so any story about him cheating would be written from the "how could she have been so dumb to trust him?" angle.

I was surprised, however, that Rosalie didn't make a bid for the spotlight as the homewrecker who took down "Bethony," "Bellony," or—as haters called our relationship—"Baloney." Instead, she also left the tour and returned to her home city in Rochester, New York. I haven't seen nor heard from her since that night, and it suits me fine. I've sequestered myself from any reminders of that period in my life.

For those first few months, that meant ignoring a metric ass-ton of texts, emails, and phone calls from both Cullen brothers. I deleted the emails and voice messages without knowing their contents, but it was impossible to do that with all of the texts that flashed across my screen until I had the good sense to block the numbers. From the snippets I couldn't avoid reading, I learned that Anthony didn't remember much of the incident but was utterly devastated at my departure. He begged for forgiveness and pleaded for another chance.

Though I avoided popular media, I got regular reports from "concerned" strangers who told me Anthony seemed to be avoiding the party scene and hadn't been photographed with another woman since me. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, it makes me believe that he regretted that night and was affected by the end of our relationship.

However, I also want him to move on and find happiness.

That's because, while I don't want to talk to him, I forgave him almost immediately. I'm not saying what he did was okay, but in a sense, both he and Rosalie did me a favor. After my revelation about my feelings for Em, I couldn't have stayed with Anthony. I would've broken things off immediately. So, his drunken actions took the responsibility out of my hands and saved me from any guilt for hurting him.

I did care about him a lot—still do, actually—and want the best for him. Although he made a mistake, I believe he's a good guy at his core. He was just never the one for me.

I think a part of me had always known, even on that first morning when I ran from his hotel room. As I got to know him better, especially once I found out he wasn't the true genius behind Hidden Summit's songs, I realized we didn't have any sort of emotional connection. We had fun together, we had great sex, but _that was it_. And I could have hoped and wished all I wanted, I could've dreamed about living out my long-held fantasies, but deep down, I knew we weren't going to work. I was blind to the truth because I didn't want to give up that pretty little picture of happiness in my imagination.

The most tragic thing about my mistake is that I didn't see whom I had a true connection with until it was too late. I can't beat myself up about it, though. I wouldn't have met Em at all if not for my infatuation with his brother.

I spent a better part of a year working through this in my head. So many times, I wanted to call up Em, ask him to meet up somewhere and spend time together, see if anything might happen between us. I'll even admit to conjuring up some new fantasies involving him, including those sexual in nature. Despite an awkward and ragged appearance, he was attractive to me, not because of his physical features but because of his beautiful mind and soul.

So why didn't I reach out to him—why won't I ever? I have my reasons, some of them more convincing than others.

For starters, I don't know how much, if at all, Anthony still cares about me. I also have no idea what the current relationship is between him and his brother. But familial bonds are sacred to me, and I can't take the risk of jeopardizing theirs.

The rest of my reasons are purely selfish. My main goals in life haven't changed much, and trying to figure out a relationship would just complicate the current game plan. I did abandon my desire to do any career work related to the music industry, though. It was never something I'd been dead set on, and now, well, I just don't want to go that route anymore.

Then why am I serving as a teaching assistant in the Music Department when I'm pursuing a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing? The money, pure and simple. I can't afford being a full-time student, and although I applied for the Teaching Assistantship program in English, I wasn't picked up.

However, I was _offered_ a paid position by the Music Department. I have a very strong suspicion that they sought me out because of my high-profile relationship with Anthony—the person everyone believes is an accomplished songwriter—and not because I graduated summa cum laude with a music degree. The two intro-level classes I assist are filled to capacity, something that's never happened before. I know I'm the department's side show draw, but apparently, I'm okay with capitalizing on my infamy since it gets me a graduate education.

Thinking of that reminds me that I have an assignment due in a few days. I finish up my sandwich and check the time. I've got less than ten minutes until the next session starts up, and that won't be long enough to get any real work done. I can't remember how many students have signed up for the afternoon period, so I pull out my list to check.

Because my schedule's always full, I rarely look at the sign-up sheet. The only thing that matters are the start and end times to my day. It's the first time I've seen today's lineup of students, so when I spot the name "Cullen" on the list, my heart takes off to the races.

It's a false alarm.

The first name isn't that of either brother—though, knowing my luck, it's a second cousin or something. I steady my breathing and massage the base of my neck to calm down. While I'm not surprised by my reaction, I certainly don't like experiencing it. In fact, it's the real reason I can't bring myself to take a chance with Em.

I'm a fucking coward.

I never thought I'd be saying that about myself, but then, I never knew how powerfully devastating love could be. It's not that I do or ever did feel like that about Em…but I could have. It's that possibility that scares me. If I was gun-shy about getting close to people before meeting Anthony and Em, it's nothing compared to how I feel now. I've experienced betrayal and gotten a glimpse of how wonderful an emotional connection with someone could be, but thankfully, both weren't because of the same person. If gave my heart to Em and he smashed it…well, I get to see living proof of what can happen every other weekend or so when I drive home to visit Mom.

I don't want that. I doubt I could handle it. I feel certain that it's better to avoid destruction than to take a chance on bliss. I won't throw myself off a mountainside to see if I can fly.

My thoughts have taken such a negative turn that I don't realize I'm crumpling the session list in my hand. It's when my fingernails scrape through the paper and into my palm that I look down and see the mess I've made. Once again, I take long, calming breaths—I've done this a lot over the past year—and focus on the here and now, which happens to be five minutes after the scheduled start time.

If the kid's not going to show, then I might as well make the most of the free time. I power on my laptop and open up the writing assignment that's due. It only takes a few minutes for me to get into a groove, and I'm typing away furiously when the door creaks open.

I don't bother to look up. If this Mr. Cullen doesn't care about the value of my time, then I'm not going to worry about wasting his.

"Open to number 375, _Wie sch__ö__n leuchtet der Morgenstern_. I'll be with you in a moment." I continue to write my paragraph. "Also, because of your late arrival, you'll only receive half credit for the session."

"I'm just auditing this class."

The words cause my fingers to freeze over the keyboard. Pulse racing, I close my eyes and try to will away the soft voice that has haunted my memories and dreams. It's one thing to stop myself from contacting him, a completely different impossibility to resist when he's here.

Oh god. He's _here_.

"Why?" I rasp, my eyes still screwed shut.

"I never had the college experience. I need to see what I've been…missing."

"Fuck," I breathe, feeling light-headed and weak. My hands start to shake, so I tuck them under crossed arms. Maybe that will help keep me from falling apart.

"Bella…"

I hear the piano bench being pushed out of the way and feel Em's kneeling body against my legs. His hands curl around my upper arms as he braces me against my chair.

"What's wrong? What is it?"

"I'm just…surprised…that you're here." My throat is dry and tight, making speaking difficult. I want to jump up and run from the room, but my body refuses to listen. It's rejoicing in the feeling of his strong, warm touch.

"I didn't want you to be," he murmurs, bewilderment in his voice. "That's why I signed up for one of your sessions. I figured you could decide if you wanted to be here or not, and I couldn't overstay my welcome since someone's due after me…"

I feel the creeping edge of hysteria. "How was I supposed to guess that was you? You didn't even use your real name!"

"That _is_ my real name. I thought you knew. 'Em' is just what Anthony calls me. He hates our given names because it reminds him of our parents. We were both named after them, Edward Anthony Cullen and Elizabeth Emmeline Cullen, née Masen."

In my stunned confusion, I open my eyes and stare blindly at my lap. "Now that I think of it, your name never made sense…actually, it still doesn't. I mean, I always knew the 'e' in 'E. Anthony' stood for Emmett, but then, why would he call _you_ 'Em'?"

"It started out as a shortened version of my middle name, Masen, as in the letter 'm.' But it's also my initials. 'E.M.' Edward Masen."

"Edward," I say, trying out the sound on my lips and attempting to associate it with Em. "Edward Masen Cullen. Huh."

"The only person that calls me Edward is my Aunt Esme. She hates the nickname Em. Says it sounds like I'm one half of a chocolate candy."

The tender amusement in his voice touches my heart. God, I've missed him.

"Which do you prefer?" I ask, trying not to let myself go down that mental road of longing.

"Well, um, I always thought Edward sounded kind of royal," he says shyly. "When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was a prince rescuing all the fair maidens of the realm."

"Prince Edward. I like that." A pause. "Though, I'm not too thrilled about this legion of girls being indebted to you."

I finally glance up at him. From the moment I heard his voice, I knew it would be a mistake to see him again. I stare into those deep, soulful eyes burning with hope, and my fate is sealed.

I am lost.

A strangled sob lodges in my throat as I lunge forward and throw my arms around his neck. He's caught off-balance, and together, we tumble to the floor.

"Oh god, Bella. I've missed you so much." He's laughing and crying at the same time as he crushes my body to his. "So damned much."

I don't say anything—I can't. I just hold onto him as if my very life depends on it. Maybe it does.

After a few moments, he wriggles out from under my weight and pushes himself into a sitting position. He moves me so that I am straddling his lap, my arms and legs wrapped around his torso like a koala on a eucalyptus tree. I bury my face into his shoulder and take a deep breath. Had he always smelled so good?

I want to hold onto him for the rest of the day—even longer—but I know our time here is limited. I've got three more students after him and my own assignment to finish. Even though there is just so much I need to say, to ask, to think about, we have put our reunion on pause.

"You know, it doesn't matter if you're just auditing, you still need to keep up with the class," I murmur in his ear. "You'll have to play the piece so I can assess your performance."

"Really?" he asks in surprise, pulling back to look at my face. "I, um, don't have the music."

Getting up from his lap, I reach into my bag to produce the book of chorales. I may have bent over a little further than necessary to provide a good view of my ass. Old habits die hard, apparently.

"You can use my copy. Number 375."

He stares at the music book in my hand and then at me, trying to figure out if I'm serious. I am, mostly. I wouldn't push the issue if he didn't want to do it, but he deserves a little payback for tracking me down and surprising the hell out of me.

Moving slowly, he stands up and takes the book. After settling himself on the piano bench and finding the correct chorale amongst the bound pages, he flexes his fingers and starts to play.

I'm sure he's sight reading, and it's a pretty decent first attempt. It's not perfect; I can tell he's not used to playing this genre of music. Still, it's better than most of what I've heard today, and I'm certainly getting my fill of enjoyment in watching him. The little frown of concentration and furrowed brow are adorable, and I love how he cringes the few times his fingers flub a note.

After sounding the final chord, he shakes his head and keeps his gaze on his hands.

"Wow, that sucked. I guess I won't be able to, um, win you over with my skills on the piano," he says quietly, his cheeks a light shade of pink.

I'm trying very hard to maintain a detached expression on my face. "I'm sure that would have gone much better if you'd practiced beforehand. Next time, pay closer attention to the dissonances in the moving lines of the alto and tenor voices."

"Yes, _Ms. Swan_."

He peeks up from under his lashes, and—holy hell—I have to squeeze my thighs together. There might be something to this teacher-student vibe we've got going on. I wonder if fraternization rules apply to those who are auditing.

The look in his eyes intensifies. It's both longing and vulnerable. "Piano abilities aside, is there any way I _can_, um, impress you? Maybe…take you to a nice restaurant? Or whatever you want, I just have to…I mean, I'd really like to spend time with you again."

Even if he wasn't wearing the entirety of his heart on his sleeve, there's no way I could refuse him this. I want it too much.

"Well, I—"

A knock on the door startles me. I had completely lost track of the time.

I poke my head out into the hallway. A timid-looking brunette is clutching her music book to her chest and shifting back and forth on her feet. I remember her from previous sessions.

"Hey there. It's Daniella, right?"

She nods, her wide doe eyes darting around fretfully.

"I need a few more minutes, and then we'll get started."

After she acknowledges, I close the door and turn back to Em…er,_Edward_. That's going to take some time to get used to.

"Where are you staying? How long have you been here—do you have a place nearby?" I wonder if he's been stalking me, and if so, how I feel about that.

He shakes his head to the last question. "Not yet, uh…I mean, no, I don't. I've been staying at a hotel for the past week."

"Well, I really have to finish an assignment before I can do anything else. If things go well, I should be done tonight. I have class and more practice sessions tomorrow morning, but we could do lunch if you want."

The dazzling smile on his face makes my insides feel weird. It's a good kind of weird, I think, but it's not something I've experienced before.

"That would be just…perfect. Where…when…?"

"I'll be done at noon. Why don't you meet me here and we can figure out the details then?"

We both stand up, and there's an awkward moment as we try to figure out how to say goodbye. It's easy to tell he doesn't want to act for fear of doing the "wrong" thing. The distress on his face tugs at my heartstrings. I move in close, wrapping my arms around him. He tenses for just a moment and then reciprocates the embrace, squeezing me tightly.

"Bella."

From his lips, that one word is a sigh, a declaration, a question, a desire…a promise.

I release him and step back before he can feel the anxiety that's beginning to ripple out from my chest. The past twenty minutes have been an emotional roller coaster for me, and I don't want to make him any more nervous than he already is.

"See you tomorrow, Em—Edward."

That beautiful smile is back as he opens the door and passes through. "Tomorrow."

There's a barely audible gasp as he walks away. I glance at Daniella and see her gaping at him, a deep pink flush over her cheeks. She's smitten.

Tilting my head to study his profile, I take another look at the object of her adoration. I hadn't paid attention to it before, but his hair—while still unruly and flopping over his forehead—is shorter than I've ever seen it, especially on the sides and the back. He's also wearing clothes that not only fit his body but flatter it, as well. The Henley he's got on shows off his broad shoulders, defined biceps, and toned pecs. In fact, although his overall physique is leaner, he gives his brother a run for the money in the hot body department.

How had I not noticed it in the practice room? I mean, I'd always thought he was cute in his own way. After I got to know him better, it was his sweet personality that I saw, not his physical features. Even after a year of being apart, I'd viewed his face and body mostly as a means of reading his emotions.

I force myself to turn around and walk through the doorway, not even checking to see if Daniella has wiped the drool from her chin and is following me in. Now is not the time for any thoughts about Em/Edward—lustful or otherwise. I have to focus on my students and my studies. If I can get that stupid assignment out of the way after dinner, then maybe I can devote some time to sorting out my feelings.

And maybe indulge in a fantasy or two.

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><p><strong>And there's the end of Part One. Thank you ALL for reading along!<strong>

**Again, thanks to DayDreamDreamer for beta-ing the first half and to oldenuf2knobeta for prereading. Also, special thanks to those to shared their thoughts...it helped me edit proceeding chapters!**

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><p><strong>I've got 2 other WIPs, and then I'll begin Part Two, probably in EPOV. Hope to see you there! Lots 'o love!<strong>


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